


Dark Horse

by soyouwannaplaywithmagick



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-01
Updated: 2016-01-11
Packaged: 2018-03-20 19:38:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 23
Words: 66,354
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3662457
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/soyouwannaplaywithmagick/pseuds/soyouwannaplaywithmagick
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Somewhere, across time and space in a little shop with a bell on the door and an owl sleeping in a cage of her own volition, John is in awe of Sherlock. He is still learning: a little witch, Sherlock calls him, and he allows it because he knows it is a reference to his years and his tutelage, not his size. Though John thought himself to be quite grown, knowing Sherlock has allowed him to realize how little his time on this earth has been. He is so ready for more of everything. Magic AU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. In Which The Story is Basically Ouran High School Host Club meets xxxHolic

Walking home from school was easily John’s favorite part of the day. There were no demanding teachers, no over-zealous rugby players hitting him in the face, no decisions that needed to be made about university or the army or any of that. He could just coast; he knew the way. Cutting through the town square which he liked to sometimes do, he suddenly thought about his sister, Harry, and how her birthday was coming up. 

_I oughta get her something_ , he thought. _Even though all she really wants is illegally downloaded music and booze._ He looked around at the nearby shops, trying to see in and ask himself if a single one of them could possibly have anything suitable for Harry. He noticed a new shop then, one he’d never seen before. 

It was a worn looking place, old and definitely constructed of mostly wood. The structure seemed very Eastern to him, but the face of the building was decidedly English. There was a name printed across the archway in faded gold letters: SHERLOCK’S. It only took him a little half-jog to get across the street, and he was there. 

John opened the door and listened to the little bell ring out behind him as he slipped in. The place was dark, and he had to let his eyes adjust. Once they had, he remained where he was, unsure if what he was seeing was just a product of sunspots and dust. The store _was_ dusty, but as he gazed around, he could already see this wasn’t your average cornerstore. 

It was absolutely full of _things_. Many of the things that were there John had never seen before, things that didn’t make sense and that he didn’t have a name for. There were other things as well, things like a rocking horse with chipped paint, a large chest with a scrap of lace poking out from its closed lid, a candle which the wick had burned straight through and left a hollow shell. And books. Hundreds upon hundreds of books. 

There was a counter farther up, glass, looking like it might have been fished out of the sea. John started to inch toward it, but a rustling behind him turned his gaze. A flutter of wings was the only warning he received before a giant owl turned to glare down at him from inside her cage and screeched. 

“Oh!” 

John backed up toward the counter now, realizing he’d raised his hands in front of him. He knew the owl was locked away, but something gave him the odd feeling that she was only in that cage because she wanted to be. John stared around the shop and began to notice more things which troubled him. A glass ball on an unsteady-looking table. A collection of what looked like tiny heads across a shelf. A box of something covered by a decorative scarf. 

_What the fuck_ , he thought. 

“Welcome” came a deep voice from behind him. “Welcome to my shop.” 

John turned around, not sure of whether he was learning more toward the fight or flight response, and took in the man standing behind the counter. He was tall, thin, and wrapped in a cloak. He was handsome (seafoam eyes and coffee-colored curls) but seemed to have a rather crazy (and somewhat sardonic) smile on his face which made John feel like the man was able to see right through him. 

“You’re looking for something,” the man asked, “aren’t you? They always are.”

_No_ , John thought calmly. _Just say no and back toward the door._  

“Um, I um... Was just looking around.” 

The man suddenly frowned, his sunny smile disappearing into a look less angry than confused. Or maybe he was angry that he was confused. 

“I know what you’re looking for,” the man said but didn’t seem like he much believed himself. 

“I’m––I’m just looking for a gift for my sister.” 

“No. You... You need to be looking for something. Why else would you be here?” 

John opened his mouth to speak again, but it hardly seemed necessary to repeat himself. 

“Um... I’ll just go.” 

“NO.” The man came around the counter and looked John over, his eyes squinting as if he was trying to see through a fog. “You’re a seventeen-year-old twelfth year at Stonewall Academy. Your mother and father are former veterans, your sister has a drinking problem. You’re a virgin, you’re unsure of your future commitments, and all of your friends are obsessed with a television show you do not watch. And you’ve recently switched to a different soap, to which you’re having an allergic reaction.”  

John’s mouth dropped open. “Holy... That’s––That’s _brilliant_.”   

The man growled and threw his hands in the air. “Why are you HERE, though!”  

John blinked, almost bowled over by the response. “I told you, my sister’s birthday. I... I need a present.”  

“You shouldn’t have found this place. There’s nothing here for you.” 

“Hang on, now––!” 

“Goodbye!” 

John braced himself to be thrown out of the shop like a street urchin in a Dickens novel. Instead the man brushed past him and went to the cage of the large owl. He opened his fingers to it, and John shuddered to see the strange movements and noises it suddenly began making. He thought he saw a tail slip down its throat. 

“God! What was that?” 

“Are you still here?” The man sighed. “She needs to eat, just like anyone else.” 

“She?” 

“Yes. Morgana.” 

“Your... pet?” he asked nervously. 

“She’s not a pet. Pets are kept. She is a companion.” 

John realized he was right to be nervous as he asked the question. Pretty much nothing he said to this man seemed to be the right thing. 

“Well... She’s beautiful. A bit scary though.” 

The man turned to look at him. _Could say the same thing about you_ , John thought and immediately tried to scatter those words away inside his mind. He wondered if it was his imagination, but the man seemed to smile. 

They both heard the little bell on the door chime, and John craned his neck to see the man who had just stepped inside. He was wearing sunglasses but took them off to blink blearily into the room. Though small in stature, he had a large presence about him. He also looked about fifty ways to fucked up, and his suit had a little stain on the lapel. 

“Mr. Stark. Welcome to my shop.” 

John blinked at the man in the cape, wondering how he could have possibly known the other man’s name. 

“Tony’s fine. Mr. Stark was my father, and he never lets me forget it. Been dead almost a quarter of a century and still wants to call me Junior.” He looked around the shop the same way John had and then tilted his head down as if he was still wearing the sunglasses which were now in his hand. 

“Sign said Sherlock’s. You Sherlock?” 

“I am. And you’re looking for something.” 

“Yeah.” Mr. Stark, Tony, took another long scan of the room as if, this time, it would all make sense. “Forgot what though.” 

“Maybe I could be of some assistance.” 

“Why else would they pay you?” 

Sherlock (as John felt silly for not realizing he must have been called) stepped forward and ran his gaze over the smaller man. It didn’t seem to unnerve Tony in the slightest, though when Sherlock stepped away, he and John both watched his cape rustle. 

“You the shop boy?” Tony asked. 

“I’m just a patron, I guess.” John gave a little shrug. 

“This place smells like moth balls,” Tony replied. “And, strangely, a good, twenty year Scotch.” 

“Johnnie Walker Blue Label, Mr. Stark,” Sherlock said as he came back from the shelf he’d been perusing. John squinted to see what he held in his hand, but it seemed to be nothing other than a small photograph. “I believe I have found the one for whom you are looking.” 

“Whom?” Tony’s eyes turned to the picture, and a little breath escaped him. John tried to creep closer, but he could only see the picture from a distance. To him, it looked like a photograph of a smiling woman with dark hair captured in perfect black and white. 

“She...” The word seemed to be all Tony could manage. He reached out to take the photograph, and Sherlock snatched it away again. While John didn’t see him store it anywhere, it looked like it had gone right up his sleeve, a little magic trick. 

“Ah... You must know this part, Mr. Stark. While I’m more than happy to give you what you want, I’ll need some sort of payment in return.” 

Tony’s lips formed a sour expression, his bearded chin jutting out as he sized Sherlock up. 

“Money,” he said, but it lacked the confidence of his earlier statements. 

“No.” Sherlock took a step back. “I’ll take your father’s watch. The gold one. In your pocket.” 

There was a long pause in which John wasn’t quite sure what was going on, but he felt a mystical kind of energy that he swore he’d known from somewhere before. Maybe a Disney movie... 

Tony reached into his pocket and removed a small, gold watch on a chain. His mouth was still pursing strangely, and he finally looked back up at Sherlock. 

“I don’t suppose you care what this is worth.” 

“I care what it is worth to you, Mr. Stark.” 

“Thought so.” Tony held the watch out in front of him, and it changed hands faster than John could follow. The photograph reappeared suddenly, in Tony’s hand. 

“She’s waiting for you,” Sherlock said, a touch of ominousness in his voice that made John frown. _Did he really need the dramatics?_ he thought to himself until he remembered he was in a shop owned by a man in a cape with an owl for a pe––er, companion. 

“Yeah. Yeah...” Tony went to walk out of the shop, the photograph still clutched in his hand. The bell sang out as he disappeared back into the street, and the daylight went with him. 

Sherlock turned to place the watch on a shelf and only then seemed to notice John again. 

“Oh, for God’s sake! Didn’t I tell you to go?” He made another face, the same one which quite unnerved John earlier. He felt as if this man was reading him from cover to cover very quickly. 

“I’m––I’m definitely going. It’s just...” The words were escaping his mouth before he could suck them back in. “Don’t you feel sort of bad for tricking that man?” 

“What?” If Sherlock’s voice had seemed deep before, it suddenly went infrasonic. John could feel it in his bones. 

“I, I, I didn’t mean that you shouldn’t do what you’re doing. It’s just that, well, you’re selling him on something you can’t possibly deliver and taking his personal item and it all just seems a bit cruel and––” 

“That man has seen more of the universe than you can possibly fathom, and he knows when he’s being deceived and when he is in the presence of someone who can supply him with the truth.” 

John’s hands were fists at his sides which still made him feel like his body was stuck between running and picking a fight. “You knew his name, but he didn’t know you.” 

“In another dimension, the whole world knows his name.” 

John laughed, snorting a bit. “That’s kind of ridiculous, don’t you think?” 

Sherlock started toward him. Panicking, John backed up several steps, bumping into the glass counter, and dislodging a vase that was sitting atop it. Of course the thing fell, and of course, it broke. 

There was a hideous cry and a whirl of white around them. Sherlock seemed to do something strange with his hands and, for a moment, John just saw purple. He shielded his eyes and, upon uncovering them, saw a horrifying, pale-white visage still emitting its horrible scream. And then suddenly the shop was fine again. Sherlock was breathing hard, and the room itself looked a bit scattered. Otherwise, everything was as it had been. 

“What––What?!” John couldn’t get out the rest of the sentence. He stood with his arms still up, peering around the room. That’s when he noticed the door beside him and the same awful face through its small window. 

“Oh!” John jumped again and stared at the face. It was still horrifying, and it was clearly dead (had been for some time) but seemed much more subdued. Upon further inspection, it seemed to have no body and undulated in a smokey way behind the window. 

“Thank you very much,” Sherlock said in the most sarcastic voice John had ever heard. “Do you have any idea how hard it was to get him in there?” 

“What the––fuck...” John’s voice came out barely a whisper. The thing was still undulating at him. “Is that a...” The word John wanted to use felt absurd but, at this point, was just in keeping with the tone of his day. 

“Ghost, yes, it is.” Sherlock brushed off his cloak and addressed the face in the window. “Enjoy your larger cell for now, Carlos, because you aren’t going to be there for much longer!” Sherlock turned back to John and glared. “You’re going to pay for that.” 

“PAY! Why?!” John sputtered a few times, preparing himself to rant about what an insane notion that was, until he remembered that normally, in a shop with lots of old knick-knacks, there was a policy of “You break it, you buy it.” It seemed so long ago that he’d ever been in a normal shop; it had been a simpler time. 

Sherlock’s eyes widened. “Yes! Pay! For the vase you broke, for the work I now must do to get Carlos back into his vase, and for the emotional damage this will cause to me.” He sighed and rubbed his temples. “No. It’ll have to be servitude.” 

“Wha––?” John began to speak again but stopped himself. He couldn’t believe he had heard him right. _Servitude_.

“Are you capable of finishing a sentence?” the man asked. He was now behind the counter and seemed about ready to settle into his chair.

“Sherlock,” John said and finally he was rewarded with eye contact. It gave him a slight chill. “What do you mean servitude?” 

“I mean you’ll need to work off your debt to me. By providing service to me, here in my shop.” 

Maybe it was reasonable. Or maybe John had gone insane himself. 

“What, like... after school?” 

“Like for the next three thousand years or so. How does that sound?” 

“WHAT?”

“Fine, one thousand. But I can’t go lower. You’ve made an absolute mess of things.” 

“A thousand years?! You’re mad! No one lives that long!” 

Sherlock sat and took out a small pair of reading glasses which he unfolded and hooked over his ears. “I’ll be nine hundred and sixteen in January.” 

“Jesus,” John breathed and then shook his head. “I mean, no! There’s no way. And all of this... magic stuff? Maybe you’ve got that poor man back there fooled but not me."

It was true all right. John didn’t believe in magic or ghosts or... weird, beautiful men in capes who claimed to be a thousand years old. John threw a nervous glance at the creepy face. Carlos. It was still billowing about angrily. 

“Smoke and mirrors,” said John, sounding a bit more unsure. 

“Really.” Sherlock glanced at John over his glasses. “Then leave.” 

John asked himself why he hadn’t done so already. He felt stupid, but with renewed confidence, he turned to march straight out the door. The bell rang when he opened it, but John didn’t hear it this time. All he saw was a complete and soundless black void. 

With a cry, he slammed the door shut again and turned to stare back at Sherlock who removed his glasses and put down the copy of _Cosmopolitan_ he’d picked up when John’s back was turned. 

“Welcome to my shop, Mr. Watson. And your new home.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! The first chapter is a kinda zany, but it has a long way to go. You can also follow us at soyouwannaplaywithmagick.tumblr.com


	2. In Which John Learns More About His New Home (and Its Perks)

“Are you… Are you kidding?” John asked the question though he knew Sherlock was not kidding. They stared at each other for a moment that was a tad too long in John’s eyes. It was just that he had no idea what to say and, well… Sherlock didn’t seem too preoccupied with the issue of wasted time. Nine hundred and sixteen years old, he’d said? Ridiculous. John readjusted his stance and kept his scowl, but he also knew that the claim didn’t strike him as ridiculous. Not as ridiculous it would have been outside this shop, as it would have been coming from someone who wasn’t… him.

Finally, Sherlock removed his spectacles and put them into some small compartment in the counter. Or maybe they just disappeared up his sleeve like…

_Don_ _’_ _t say it,_  John spat at himself.  _Don_ _’_ _t EVEN think it…_

“Tea?” Sherlock said. John puzzled at the question but realized it didn’t seem unappealing. Actually, he could go for a biscuit or two as well. Might make the whole thing seem a bit more normal. He immediately felt stupid and shook his head. Nothing would make this normal.

But tea sounded good.

“Sure.” He watched Sherlock stand and disappear into the back room of the shop. Well, he didn’t really disappear; he just walked there. But the cape gave everything he did a sort of strange, ethereal quality. Or maybe it was just the man himself.

John was left thinking until he heard “Coming?” in a slightly annoyed tone from the back room. He swallowed.

“Y-Yeah.” He walked past the counter and through the door. He started a bit when he realized that it wasn’t a back room at all but a hallway to a whole series of rooms. It took him a minute to actually grasp how foolish he’d been. _He_ _’_ _s keeping you hostage here._ _‘_ _Course he_ _’_ _d have more than a back room. He must live in this place._

John wondered vaguely which room might be Sherlock’s bedroom and then heard “Waiting” from down the hall in an even more clipped tone than before. He called out “Sorry,” though he didn’t think he should be apologizing. He quickly found where Sherlock was and peeked in through the door. As he looked about, he was more taken by this room than he had been by the previous one.

It was a parlor complete with two handsome armchairs, a large fireplace, and walls of books, even more than there had been in the shop room. Beside the gray armchair stood Sherlock, just finishing with the tea. John didn’t see a kettle anywhere, just the pot and the two cups. And a candy dish.

“I was starting to think you’d found the way out.”

John perked up. “There’s a way––”

“No. Not without a long drop into the abyss. I only wanted to give you false hope.” He lifted his cup and took a sip. John wanted to knock the tea tray over but decided against it.

“That one for me?”

“Yes.”

“Is it poisoned?”

“Do you want it to be?”

John gave a fake laugh and walked over to the cup. He picked it up and took a sip. He almost spat it out and swallowed it simultaneously, overwhelmed not so much by the flavor but by the feeling it gave him. After choking on it a bit, he finally forced it down and let out a long moan.

“––nnn, GOD.”

“Yes,” said Sherlock in a lower voice, sipping again from his cup.

“This tea, I can’t… I mean, it’s––” John’s ears went pink because he didn’t want to say the word he was thinking.

“Say it, I already know.”

With a slightly softer tone, one that made him sound like a child nervous to repeat a bad word, he murmured, “Orgasmic.”

“Yes.”

John nodded. “Yes, well. So you know, then. Right.” He took another sip and was instantly transported for a moment. His whole body felt warm and good and loose. He shivered. “Mmm.” After composing himself, he finally asked.

“Does it… Is there a reason why it tastes so good?”

“Yes. The peppermints I use are harvested to be delicious and to cause hormonal reactions. They also happen to cause brain cancer.”

“W…” John stared at him for a moment. “That isn’t true.”

“No. But it can be fun to lie.” Sherlock smiled over his cup and sat down in the armchair near which he’d been hovering. John sighed and felt himself bristle at being so gullible. He walked to the other chair and sat. It was maroon and surprisingly comfortable.

“Well, fine. I just thought, you know, that it might be something else.”

“Like what?”

“Like…” He hesitated, resisting the urge to suck back more tea. His life felt empty now when it wasn’t in his mouth. He crinkled his nose. It made him feel strange when that thought passed through him but not as strange as Sherlock’s sudden, low laugh.

“Ah.” He squared his shoulders, made himself say it. “Magic. I thought it might be something like magic.”

“What’s something like magick?”

John noticed that Sherlock seemed to be saying the word differently than he did, although their pronunciation was the same.

“You know.” He was angry again and still trying to resist the lure of the tea. “So are you magic or not?”

Sherlock leaned forward in his seat, setting his own cup aside. “Just drink the tea already. You’ll feel better once you do.”

“And that! It’s like you’re, you’re reading my mind.”

“Yes.”

“Well… are you?”

“Am I?”

John narrowed his eyes. There had to be a way to get a straight answer. He could take it and was ready for it. “What are you?”

“Though it’s not a polite question, I do appreciate the straightforwardness. All right, Mr. Watson. I’ll tell you  _what_  I am.”

“You know my name too.”

“I do.” He leaned back in the chair again. “I can read your mind when I choose, and I have many powers which do come from a magickal source. I have used them to fashion many things including the tea, this shop, and other wonders you’ll likely find lying around. I carved my place out of the universe with this power, and it has taken me quite a long time to do it. I am capable of a great many things, Mr. Watson, all of which had to be learned over a long stretch of time except for the natural gifts I possess, and even those I learned how to use.”

“These gifts, the… magic.”

“Yes.” Sherlock seemed satisfied and leaned back in his chair, tenting his fingers in front of his lips.

“You still haven’t answered my question, the rude one.”

Sherlock nodded. “You’re right. And I suppose there are many terms for what I am, but I most prefer witch.”

“You’re a witch.”

“Yes.”

John nodded. “And I’m here to, what? Help you keep your cauldron clean?”

Sherlock laughed. “You will be tending to many things for me, Mr. Watson. As my errand boy and indentured servant.”

“Great.” John’s voice was thicker than he’d ever heard it. He sounded like his sarcastic sister.  _Gee, wouldn_ _’_ _t Harry be proud?_

“It’ll go down better with the tea.”

John realized the cup was still in his hand and brought it to his lips immediately, drinking the rest. His body shuddered for a moment (wracked with good vibrations) and then he finally managed to calm down.

“God.” He swallowed again, setting the tea aside. “We, um… What were we…?”

“You. Being here.”

“Right. Right.” John forced himself to look back into Sherlock’s pale green eyes. The other man’s gaze was piercing. Everything just seemed so believable to John now: the witch stuff, the magic stuff, the nearly nine hundred years his new employer claimed to have on him. He gave a long sigh and sat back.

“So then. You’re a witch.”

“Do we need to continue going over all the details?”

“It’s a pretty big detail,” John said with a smile and a snort.

“Yes, one I’ve already admitted to. So are you really going to sit there turning the word witch over and over in your head and wondering why I don’t wear a big black hat or would you like a tour of this place?”

“I––” John frowned and nodded. “Yeah. I guess I should see some of it, then. If I’m gonna be stuck here.”

Sherlock got to his feet quickly. John shook the afterglow from his eyes and, as he stood, forced himself to forget that there was still a full pot of tea.  _He may not wear a hat, but that cape_ _’_ _s pretty cheesy,_ John thought to himself.

“We all need to look somewhat our parts, don’t we?” Sherlock glanced back at him and shrugged as John sputtered for a response. “Besides, it’s important to choose the right armor. Come along, Mr. Watson.”

_This is going to be torture_ , John thought and immediately heard Sherlock’s laugh again.

For a promised tour, there was quite a lot that John was not allowed to see. Many of the doors were closed, and he had a suspicion that most of them would be locked. He did, however, get to peek in on the kitchen which looked a bit 1950s-esque in a way that was both impressive and a tad creepy: checkered tablecloth, large sink and counter space, and a window that presented them with a sunny afternoon and a view of a backyard that John didn’t even ask about. He knew it wasn’t really there.

There was a bathroom that John was also able to see with a shower one could step down into. There were potted plants on either side of the sunken area, and it gave the room a greenhouse effect. John felt peaceful but surprised that Sherlock would even have a room like that one. It was difficult for John to follow his moods and to be prepared for him. Somehow, he was already aware  of Sherlock’s propensity for displays of emotional whiplash.

Sherlock had ducked back into the parlor to grab something, and John noticed a door down the hall that was open. He couldn’t think of how things could get any worse if he peeked, so he pushed the door aside and looked in. It was a bedroom that was decorated all in green. Green sheets, green curtains, and a luscious, green carpet. In the corner, there was a large globe, and the headboard and footboard of the bed were painted gold. Perhaps they were made of real gold, come to think…

“What are you doing?!”

John jumped. Sherlock’s mood had gone very dark again which was equal parts terrifying, confusing, and frustrating. He’d seemed to be enjoying himself so much before, laughing at John’s expense. Why get so worked up over a room?

“I’m––I’m sorry. Is this your bedroom?”

“No.” Sherlock brushed past John to grab the knob and yank the door shut. Then he knocked upon the door beside it. “This one’s mine. You have no reason to go snooping around in there either.”

John frowned. “Fine!” He turned to notice one other door which stood catty-corner to the green bedroom. “And this?”

“My lab.”

“Your… That’s where you do magic?”

“That’s where I practice my craft as well as any experiments I may need to conduct.”

The word “experiments” was forming on John’s lips followed by a question mark, but before he could get it out, Sherlock was leading him down the hall.

“This room will be yours.” 

“What about the green bedr––”

“THIS room, Mr. Watson.” They passed the entryway which led to the shop before Sherlock shoved him in front of another door. There was quite a bit more distance between this room and the bedroom Sherlock claimed was his. John watched as Sherlock threw open the door and stepped aside.

The room was not as grand as the others. And how could he be surprised? He was a servant, a prisoner. Still, it didn’t seem at all uninviting. John walked in. The walls were painted white, but there was very little light in the room. A soft-looking mattress lay on the floor, like in a Japanese-style bedroom, and a screen stood folded beside a large, floor-length window with a sliding glass door. There were a few more things (a lamp, an empty bookshelf, and a small nightstand near the top of the mattress), but John was captivated by the window. It really was the conversation piece of the room.

Outside, there was a scene of a dense and misty forest, a small brook running through its trees. It was so green and deep, John felt like he could fall right into it. The mist seemed to be reflecting what little light actually came in; the lamp gave off only a faint glow but John could see everything in the room.

“It’s not real,” John whispered. “Is it.”

“No. But it does give one something to look at.”

John nodded and studied the empty room which seemed, in all seriousness, to have just been waiting for someone.

“Do you do this a lot?” he said and turned to face Sherlock again. “Get unsuspecting teenagers to break your things? Sentence them to a thousand years servitude?”

“Don’t be silly, Mr. Watson,” Sherlock replied as he moved back toward the door. “I told you I’m only nine hundred and change. And there’s never been anyone stupid enough to break my things before.”

Somehow, John didn’t believe him. It was the way he said it. But, instead, he pushed that feeling aside and called out, “John.”

Sherlock stopped in the hall, turned, and faced him again.

“If I’m going to be here for… a while, you might as well call me by my name.”

“John, then.”

“Sherlock.”

With a tiny upward quirk of his eyebrow, Sherlock prepared again to leave.

“Shall I be up by a certain time?”

“The view will wake you,” Sherlock said and was gone from John’s sight. For a moment, John did nothing, just looked around his new room and sighed. Finally, his exhaustion got the better of him and he turned to lie down.

_Fine, then,_  he thought.  _Fine. It_ _’_ _s all real, and I_ _’_ _m here. And it_ _’_ _s happening. And that_ _’_ _s… fine._

John had always been rather good at rolling with the changes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “The less we say about it the better  
> Make it up as we go along  
> Feet on the ground  
> Head in the sky  
> It’s okay I know nothing’s wrong  
> Nothing”
> 
> -“This Must Be The Place” by Talking Heads


	3. In Which a Stranger Calls

About a week later, John had adjusted rather comfortably to his new life. Sometimes he thought of home, of Harry and his sugar-sweet mother and his strong, silent father who wore his military uniform to Watson family reunions, but those times were rare. They came about when, exhausted from the day’s labors and full of the dinner he’d cooked for him and Sherlock (that was always rather good if he did say so himself), he would stare out the large window in his bedroom which always showed him a different side of the world.

The universe maybe.

It had to be something Sherlock was consciously controlling. It was always different, a new beautiful, breathtaking view every time he walked in. Once he was underwater and, another time, in space. It more often than not showed him a view of a lush landscape: the Amazon rainforest, the rolling hills of Ireland, a sand dune in the Gobi desert at night. John would just breathe a “Wow” and take it in. Once, he got to see it change, to shudder and shift into a new sight.

The window was definitely the focal point of his room. Otherwise, he had the bed, the nightstand, a few books he’d borrowed from the shop, and an octopus. Until the other day, it had been in one of the kitchen sinks, and John had taken a shine to it.

“Who’s this?” he’d asked Sherlock as he’d watched the little tentacles slip out of the water and back in. John was washing dishes in the sink beside it, another of the daily chores he’d picked up.

“Oh. I don’t know.” Sherlock was drinking a cup of tea and reading a book that seemed to be written in Arabic.

“Um. I didn’t mean literally. I mean, what’s his name? Unless you did mean literally and he’s another… ghost or something.”

“He isn’t a ghost. He’s an octopus.”

John gave an “Oh silly me” shrug to cover up his annoyance, but Sherlock had already begun to speak again. “He was given to me as payment. But he isn’t one of my companions. He might just be passing through, I don’t know.”

He didn’t sound very interested to know either. John glanced at him and saw how thin he looked sitting there in his cloak, his long fingers absently touching the teacup. His curls had fallen in his eyes, and John wanted to brush them away.

Instead he just cleared his throat.

“He’s not a companion so he doesn’t get a name?”

Sherlock gave a little snort in response and turned the page in his book.

John pressed the issue. “Morgana has a name. And… Thomas.” Thomas may have been John’s least favorite thing about his new residence. While Morgana scared the piss out of him, her authority could be respected. Thomas was a little shit and a bat at that. He lived in a cage in the shop and blinked up at John with his large, red eyes whenever John had to feed him. According to Sherlock, Thomas used to be a fruit bat but was now a vampire bat which made zero sense to John. All he knew was he didn’t like the sucking sounds Thomas made whenever it was feeding time.

“Morgana and Thomas are companions. The octopus is an interloper.”

“What, like me?” John turned from the dishes to look at Sherlock.  _Do your own damn dishes then, you witchy sod._

Smiling, Sherlock continued to keep eye contact until John remembered that the bastard could hear his thoughts. He grumbled and went back to his task. At least he was in a good mood if he was smiling like that; it was sometimes hard to tell which way the wind was blowing with Sherlock. The incident with the green room was still fresh in John’s mind, and he wasn’t sure if he wanted more to know whose room it was and why he couldn’t sleep there or what Sherlock’s room actually looked like if that wasn’t it. In any case, John took advantage of the good mood and asked for a tank.

“I like him,” he’d said. “I’m going to call him O.”

John moved O into his bedroom and watched him ooze around from time to time, his great, gray mantle following behind his many arms. Mostly, they just gazed at the view out the window together. The time alone in his room, though it was bare, was always relaxing, and John often lay awake for a while before finally allowing himself to drift off. The lying awake wasn’t the way he’d done it at home when he was anxious about school or the future or whatever else came into his mind at one in the morning. It was a calm, quiet lying awake, the satisfied kind.

His favorite part of the day, though, was having tea with Sherlock. Every night, after dinner was over and the dishes were done, they’d go into the parlor and Sherlock would make him a cup. It always tasted like heaven, giving him the same rush every time of being on the edge of euphoria and then falling right in. He told himself to savor every drop, but he always finished rather quickly which was somehow embarrassing. Sherlock took his time.

They spoke some, but mostly they read. Sherlock had lots of dusty books and didn’t seem to mind if John pulled some down from shelves and looked them over. John didn’t read any of the magick ones, but he desperately wanted to. Somehow, he already knew Sherlock wouldn’t approve. But he wanted to understand.

One night, John watched Sherlock move his hand to pick up the teacup and take a sip. As he reached out to replace it in its saucer, he let go a bit before it was down. John tensed, but the cup eased itself into the saucer just as smoothly as water being poured out of a jar. When John’s gaze turned back to Sherlock, he saw the same hand caressing a small purple glow that radiated from between his fingers. He played with it a bit, absently like that, and then stopped. The glow went away, and the warm feeling in John’s stomach went with it. Disappointed, he took another sip of tea.

But aside from wanting to know much more about the magick side of things, the daily encounters with Thomas’ sucking, and Sherlock’s occasional black moods, things were decently comfortable and uneventful. Until the call.

John was sweeping in the shop, something he usually did in the evenings once they were closed. At home, he didn’t used to like using the dustpan and would just sweep the crap out the kitchen door, but he was scared of opening the door to the shop and seeing the void again. When patrons entered he saw a glimpse of the outside world, different every time based on the place from which they came. Still, he didn’t trust it.

The place was looking better and less dusty every day, and John was proud of his work. As he stepped aside to wipe his brow before grabbing the dustpan, he noticed a strange glow coming from across the room. Things always seemed to be strangely glowing around this place, but he couldn’t help his curiosity. When he focused his eyes, he realized that it was the glass ball he’d noticed upon first entering the shop. He squinted at it, and the glow grew stronger.

“Um. Sh-Sherlock?”

“What?”

“Sherlock?”

He heard a sound like a table overturning, and Sherlock burst into the room fast enough to cause a little startled noise to escape John’s mouth.

“No! No no NO!  _NO_!”

John backed up toward Morgana’s cage and murmured, “What––What is it?”

Sherlock picked up the ball and shook it. “Go away!”

“Um.”

“Sherlock?” A voice that sounded icy but reminded John more of playing with fire seemed to be coming from the ball. It gave John a little chill, the way the voice said the other man’s name.

“What do you want?” Sherlock hissed.

John squinted and thought he might be able to see the figure of a dark haired man in the ball’s reflection. He narrowed his eyes. For some reason, it had never occurred to him that Sherlock might have… friends. Or, he supposed given the reaction, enemies?

The man in the ball laughed. “It’s been a long time. I suppose it is appropriate to skip the pleasantries.”

“I repeat my question, Loki.”

Loki. John frowned. He’d heard that name before, but in a book of myths. It was the name of a…

As John tried to convince himself that his master of one week wasn’t actually talking to some god, Sherlock stared into the ball, his eyes made greener by the reflecting light from within it.

“Fine, I’ll be brief,” said the man in the ball.

“Brevity isn’t your strong suit.”

“You can’t have it both ways, Sherlock.” Every time the man––Loki––laughed, it seemed to incense Sherlock to no end. John listened and began to feel like he really ought not to be.

“What. Is it.”

Loki sighed. “As you may already know, I’ve taken on another apprentice.”

“This makes how many for you now, hm?”

“Don’t act that way. You must already know.”

“Must I?”

“I’m not the one with the gift for precognition.”

“Just shut up and get to it.”

“Well, while I don’t have the pleasure of that particular talent, she… does. And someone needs to teach her.”

Sherlock became very quiet. Finally, with a voice that sounded like an echoing hallway in an abandoned house, he murmured. “You dare ask that of me?”

Loki’s voice grew softer. “I do. She needs your help, Sherlock.”

“Stop it.”

“You know it’s true. She’s very bright and very talented. And, as much as it kills me, there are things I cannot teach her. And who better to council my new apprentice than an old one?”

Sherlock let out a hopeless kind of laugh, making him sound defeated. It scared John, having never seen him so forlorn, so devoid of poise.

“Go straight to hell, Loki,” Sherlock said in his lowest, deepest voice, and for a moment, John believed he had the power to send him there.

Loki sighed again. “We’re coming to visit in a few days. Think it over.” The connection seemed to end, and the ball was translucent again in Sherlock’s hands. John briefly thought that he was going to smash it, but he merely replaced it to where it had been before.

At home, John’s friends joked that he was stupidly courageous, that it was going to get him killed one day. “You’ve no idea when to walk away from a fight,” they’d told him. “And you never know how to let sleeping dogs lie.”

“Sherlock?” John watched those eyes turn back to him. “Was Loki… Did he teach you how to use magick?”

If Sherlock noticed the way John said the word, he didn’t comment. He didn’t even menace him like John thought he would. He just stormed out into the back. John gave a little sigh, both of relief and disappointment.

A million thoughts and questions were swirling around in John’s brain. Of course someone had to have taught Sherlock how to use magick. The idea excited John immensely. Maybe that meant… Given Sherlock’s reaction to the whole thing, John told himself he should doubt that anything good could come of it. But he just couldn’t shake the main thought he kept coming back to, though there were quite a lot of them swirling.

_Who is this Loki guy?_

_Why does Sherlock seem to hate him so much?_

_Is that why he lives all the way out here?_

_Who’s his apprentice now? He said she was a girl…_

_Should I ask about any of it?_

_What’s precognition?_

And then, the main questions

_Does this mean he might consider teaching me?_

That night, as Sherlock did not come out of his room for either dinner or tea, John skimmed books in the shop until he found what he was looking for.  _Precognition_ , the book told him,  _is the foreknowledge of an event also called future sight._  John closed the book, feeling like he should have been able to figure that one out, and went into his bedroom. Once there, he sat with O and watched the scene outside his window: a beach with high, rolling waves that looked almost black and nearly indiscernible from the night sky.


	4. In Which the Past is Revealed and Further Enshrouded (And the Shop Gets Even More Crowded!)

Sherlock sat in the parlor, accompanied only by Thomas who was blinking up at him adoringly with his large, red eyes, and thought. His tea was cold, but all he had to do to warm it was merely flick his wrist and send a small bolt of fire its way. He did not do that, and instead, just stared at the empty seat in front of him.

It was largely occupied by John now, but Sherlock already knew that a shift would occur with their visit. He could see John’s annoyance coming off of him in waves, his eyes bright blue with anger. Or was it… determination?

Sherlock shook the vision from his mind and thought of Loki. There was no possible way he’d be able to stomach ten minutes in his presence, let alone days. And a new apprentice. And a woman at that. And he wanted to bring her here. Was there truly no end to his disrespect?

He heard a sound come from the hallway and a hurried dance of feet. The noise didn’t matter; he’d known John was in the hall for some time and did not particularly care if he came or went. The matter was all very trivial to him in this moment, as he pondered the imminent visit. For all his divinatory skills, he did not know when exactly they would arrive, and it irked him. It was part of why he’d chosen the place wasn’t it? No visitors he could not anticipate.

Well. Except for John.

“Just get in here!” Sherlock barked toward the hall, and John shuffled into the room. He poured himself a cup of tea, sat down, and gave his obligatory moan as he tasted it. Rolling his eyes, Sherlock loosened his cloak around his neck and sighed.

He knew John was about to ask a question, but he didn’t read his mind to find out what it was. Watching John’s eyebrows come together as he forced himself to commit to even asking the question was exhausting enough. As he opened his mouth to speak, Sherlock raised his hand.

“Drink your tea,” he said. And those were the last words they spoke that night.

 

John had gotten fairly accustomed to Sherlock’s moodiness, but he was particularly prickly in the days following the crystal ball call. Though he was aching to ask, John kept his mouth shut and his head down. Work and food and tea and sleep. He was starting to almost believe that his life as a witch’s slave was getting a little dull.

Then, one afternoon as he was dusting the shop, the little bell rung out and a tall, thin man with slicked back dark hair stepped inside. He was wearing a green cloak and was accompanied by a girl who seemed almost half his height but whose face was as lovely a one as John had ever seen.

“Um, can we help you?” John asked. “D-Do you need Sherlock?” He was hesitant as some people seemed to know exactly why they were coming into the shop and others didn’t until Sherlock had sent them on their way, a possession of theirs forever with him as payment for whatever he offered.

The man grinned, and John felt immediately on display, as if he was standing there naked and wearing a dog collar.

“My, this is a surprise. Hello there.”

John narrowed his eyes a bit and looked the tall man over. “You need to see Sherlock, I can get ‘im.”

“I do. But I was not aware he’d taken on an apprentice of his own. A bit hypocritical of you, don’t you think?” He had, at some point, stopped speaking to John and was addressing Sherlock who now stood in the entranceway to the rest of the house.

“He’s not an apprentice, he is merely working off a debt. His name is John.”

“John. I’m Loki.”

“Figured that much, yeah.” John didn’t know why he sounded so defensive, but he realized he was gripping the duster harder than necessary. Loki gave him another toothy smile and then turned back to Sherlock, effectively letting John know that his time in this conversation had ended.

“Still surprising of you to take on company at all. Should I be worried?”

Sherlock’s voice turned to oil and fire. “A _bout_ what.”

“Is my room still free?”

“Never mind that.” His eyes immediately shifted lower to the girl who was still standing close to the doorway. She, like Loki, was wearing a cape except hers was a dark red, almost the color of Merlot.

“And what do we have here? This must be the new apprentice.”

“Yes.” Loki tried to seem as carefree as he had been a moment ago, but his tone gave him away. “Her name is Jane Foster.”

Sherlock stepped out from behind the counter to look her over. “Ah. She is rather green, isn’t she?”

The girl narrowed her eyes and opened her mouth to speak, but Sherlock cut her off quickly.

“Parents died when you were young. Didn’t have much to go on other than the stars. The boys found you, at a rather young age I might add, but you weren’t terribly interested in all that. Still, you let one of them ruin your entire world and that’s how he found you, was it not? Broken and wanting something more. He tends to do that, don’t believe you were the first. In any case, you’ve put all the science you’ve held so much faith in away on the shelf and decided to follow him in the hopes that he can give you something it couldn’t.” For a moment, Sherlock stopped to suck on his bottom lip. Then he let it go with a pop. “And he already has. Hasn’t he.”

Jane left several beats of silence after Sherlock’s words before she spoke. “I have no intentions of putting my academics behind me for good. But, yes, he said he could teach me more.”

“He doesn’t change his lines for anyone.” Sherlock said this to Loki instead of to Jane.

“I’m stronger than you think I am.”

Letting his eyes move back to her, Sherlock murmured, “Oh, I know exactly how weighty a gift you carry. That does not mean that you can use it.”

“She needs your help, Sherlock.” Loki stepped forward and placed his hand on the small of Jane’s back. John saw in Sherlock’s eyes the intense care he took not to follow it. “There are things I can’t teach her, and she needs to learn them from you. She has many of your same gifts, including precognition, and that is one I cannot help her with.” Loki took a short breath and gave a shrug. “Well?”

Without the slightest hesitation or change in expression, Sherlock merely said, “No.”

“Sherlock––”

“I’m not a child you can admonish, nor am I your apprentice any longer. And I will not be forced to take on any student when I have gone these years without doing so. All that needed to be said has been said. Good day.” As he turned to walk into the back, Jane spoke up.

“Those things you said are true, but they aren’t impressive. Anyone with half a spark can read someone’s mind if they’re taught how.”

Sherlock stopped and turned back to look at her. “I didn’t read your mind, child. You see, even while under his tutelage, I was aware of what Loki could not teach me, and I gained any knowledge I could whenever I could.” He took a step toward her. “I don’t need to see into your mind to know exactly who and what you are.”

Jane nodded, her hazel eyes never leaving his face. “Maybe. But just because you have a past with him doesn’t mean––”

“You wish to speak on a subject you know nothing about?! Do you hope to tell me more about my own life than I could hope to understand? You’ve no idea what’s in store for you and gaining a flicker of control over the elements does not give you the right to speak to me thus.” He looked at Loki. “Penance.”

“No.” Loki shook his head and stared at Sherlock. “Drop this. This isn’t you, you’re only trying to scare her. And it’s me you’re angry with so it should be me you vilify.”

The fury in Sherlock’s words was beginning to escalate again. “Don’t use your silver tongue on me.”

Loki laughed, and when he said the words, it was like he couldn’t help himself.

“You never used to mind it.”

Too swiftly for John’s eyes, Sherlock moved around the counter and placed his face so close to Loki’s, their noses nearly touched. “Get out.”

“Sherlock.” All honey again, Loki tilted his head a bit and spoke quiet words. Though the room was absolutely silent and John strained to hear them, he still was not able to put most of it together. All he got was a string of unrelated things.

“ _Mi… de fuego_ , it has been… time. And… not for me.”

John glanced at Jane who wore an expression that completely mirrored John’s own feelings: discomfort at being so close to their intimate moment yet so enthralled as to be unable to look away.

“Please” was all Loki said after that. Sherlock’s expression had changed, but John couldn’t read it. Though there was still fire behind his eyes, his mouth had softened and the harsh lines had melted away. Somehow, it looked like they’d been talking for hours when John had only heard a few words.  _Magick_ , he thought and shivered.

No one seemed to notice, and Sherlock turned back to Jane. “Tomorrow. If you are unable to keep up with our training routine, I will have no choice but to send you away.”

“I can. I will.” Jane turned to look at Loki, but he was still staring at Sherlock. John noticed the way she wrapped her arms around herself, a movement of defensiveness and embarrassment.

“I suppose the bedroom with the window is occupied?” Loki finally threw a glance toward John, and he felt like he was a marionette only coming to life when those who held the strings bid him do so.

“That’s mine.” He nodded.

Sherlock looked at Jane. “You may stay in the dayroom. There’s a sofa.”

Jane made a face but said nothing. Loki nodded.

“Just a few days,” he said to Sherlock in soft, soothing tones. “That’s all we’ll need.”

Sherlock snorted and John was surprised to hear the little laugh that followed. “Even  _you_ know that certainly isn’t the case.”

 

 

That night, John began walking toward his bedroom when he thought to check on how the guests were getting on. Well, specifically the girl. He didn’t want to touch Loki with a ten-foot pole, and the other witch had already taken up residence in the green room next to Sherlock’s anyway. At least he didn’t have to wonder about the room’s owner any longer.

Once John came to the dayroom, he peeked in through the half-open door. Jane stood over the sofa and was spreading out a blanket. She tossed her pillow at the end and flopped down, letting out a groan. As soon as she was sitting, she looked right at John.

“What?!”

“Nothing!” Taken aback by her tone, John shrugged. “I just… was wondering how you were getting on. Do you need anything?”

“No.” Jane looked away and then gave him another heavy stare. “I’m fine, okay? Thank you.”

John wanted to ask her the question that, at the moment, was bothering him the most, and a strange one at that: were you expecting to sleep in Loki’s room?

“I said I was fine!”

“O-O _kay_!” John closed the door and shook his head. He knew she wasn’t really mad at him, but Jesus, she was testy. He wondered if it was more what Sherlock said that had gotten to her or the fact that Loki hadn’t invited her to stay with him.

John trudged back toward his room until he heard voices coming from the parlor.

“You aren’t sleeping with her, then.” Sherlock. John could hear him pouring tea.

“You know I don’t broach the subject myself, not unless they express an interest.” Loki sounded too calm and collected for someone who’d almost gotten screamed out of the place a few hours earlier. Come to think of it, Sherlock seemed pretty amiable himself considering.

“Of course. But they always do.” Now John could hear the venom again. He held his breath, waiting for confirmation of what he somehow already knew.

“You did.”

“Drink,” Sherlock muttered. And then, as John waited to hear more, the door to the parlor swung shut, making him jump. In the two weeks that he’d been there, it had never been closed and he went to bed feeling even more confused than he had been before their arrival.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “What makes you think I’m the one  
> Who’ll be there when you’re callin’?  
> What makes you think I’m the one  
> Who will catch you when you’re fallin’?  
> Every little bit  
> Is there  
> To see  
> Every little bit  
> Of you  
> And me”
> 
> -“What Makes You Think You’re the One” by Fleetwood Mac


	5. In Which Feelings are Named but Go Unspoken and Gravity Shifts

“Now. I want you… to empty your mind.”

It was a given. John had heard those words in every movie he’d ever seen about magic and kung-fu and rebellion against our eventual technological overlords.  _There is no spoon_ , he thought and smiled to himself. He was about to close his eyes, dutifully hoping to follow along, until he noticed that Jane was staring up at Sherlock, looking like she wanted to split him in two.

“This isn’t her first day, Sherlock. She’s been training for months.”

“With  _you_ ,” Sherlock spat back at Loki. “I needed to know if she had any skills at all.”

John sniffed and looked at the ground, angry with himself because he hadn’t realized that it was a trick. Jane was still glaring from her place on the floor. They were in a room that reminded John a lot of a dojo, except the floor was covered in incredibly realistic-feeling grass. John wasn’t wearing shoes, and a moment ago, he was thinking about how it squished just perfectly between his toes. It had been weeks since he’d felt grass.

“You keep calling me green and callow and inexperienced. You haven’t even seen anything I can do!” Jane showed quite a bit of fire when she took Sherlock on, which impressed John immensely. In many ways, they seemed very similar to one another in John’s eyes though he’d never say it out loud, to either of them.

“I don’t need to see your skills to know what you’re capable of.”

“That’s ridiculous!” Jane turned around to face him, slamming her open palm into the grass. “What if I said I was skilled enough to take you on right here in this room, hm? Would you even bother getting your hands dirty with me?”

Sherlock’s chin tilted upward but he said nothing. Loki began to speak instead, his tone soothing.

“Jane. I know you’re nowhere near foolish enough to do something like this.”

She rolled her eyes and glanced at Sherlock. “I’m not, but you could actually teach me something.”

Sherlock walked across the grass, and sat in front of Jane. “Fine. You want to learn?”

“ _Yes_ ,” Jane said, all her exasperation culminating into one syllable.

“Not everyone has the gift you and I possess. That’s why Loki, try as he might, will never have the ability to see past his afternoon nap and why your power is stronger than most. But you cannot just learn a few simple tricks and suddenly control something as volatile and unpredictable as precognition.”

Jane seemed to sober and nodded a bit. She situated her body with a roll of her slim hips, waiting for Sherlock’s instructions. It was hard for John not to stare.

“You really want to learn, you’re going to need to make sacrifices.”

“Fine.” She let no fear show in her eyes, nothing pouring out of her except for determination.

“All right then. Close your eyes.”

Jane hesitated but did as she was told. Sherlock followed suit, and the room became so quiet, the sound of Morgana rustling her wings all the way in the shop was audible, to some. John waited for them to speak and got confused when they didn’t. Finally, he realized they were talking, just not out loud.

“Are they… Aren’t they communicating?” He turned to Loki, keeping his voice low.

“Yes, but I’m afraid it’s more complicated than just that.”

“Well, what is it, then?” John hated how everything––bloody  _everything_ ––around here always had to be more complicated than just that.

“I believe he’s stepping into her mind.”

Without thinking, John looked at him again. “And that doesn’t bother you?”

Loki smiled. John cleared his throat a little, trying to save face. “I mean, it doesn’t upset you because you’re her… teacher and now he’s in her mind?”

“You don’t become much of anything in this life without ending up on Sherlock’s radar.” The way he said it made John uncomfortable so he turned away.

After a few minutes, he heard Sherlock’s whisper break the silence of the room.

“Stay present.”

Jane frowned though her eyes remained closed. “It… It’s difficult. I’m trying to reach out.”

“And the only way you can see into what will be is to understand what is.”

With a growl, Jane seemed to focus harder.

“Present!” Sherlock barked.

“I  _am_!”

He groaned and opened his eyes which were purple for a flash but remained fixed on her even as they faded back to green. “Do you think I’ve no idea of the presentness of your body and mind? That I cannot feel when you begin to drift? Perhaps you take me for an amateur, like you!”

“It’s impossible to stay completely present when you’re trying to reach out into the futuresphere.”

“If something in this universe were truly impossible, little girl, do you think you would be sitting before me right now?”

Jane turned to look over her shoulder at Loki. “This is crazy! He’s not teaching me.” She whipped her head back toward Sherlock just as fast. “You can’t just tell someone to stay present and step into the future too. You’re just giving me an impossible task.”

“That word again! It seems that impossible and difficult are synonymous for you. Then again, perhaps you’re accustomed to lessons with Loki who will praise you incessantly as long as you’re still young enough to gobble it up like whipped cream.”

“He taught  _you_ , or did you forget that?”

“As I’ve said, I knew early on that his tutelage wouldn’t be enough for me. That’s why I learned everything I could from everywhere I was able.” Sherlock quirked his head to stare up at Loki. “I did as you asked, but I will not be disrespected any further. This is finished.” Sherlock stood, but Jane’s words froze him.

“So do I! I know he’s not enough, that’s why I’m here!”

Sherlock paused. He looked down at her, his gaze as biting as his words had been. But when he next spoke, his voice was velvet and he nearly purred. The sound made John feel good and warm. He almost sighed.

“What do you see when you close your eyes, hm? Do you see your future, Jane Foster?”

“Yes.” Jane’s hands were fists on her knees, but she wasn’t backing down. “I’m powerful. And I’m with a man. But I’m… afraid.”

“Well. Perhaps you’ll want to work on unraveling that. But not with me as your instructor.” Sherlock began to leave the room, but Jane pulled him back again.

“I see yours too. You were right. He’s the one.”

John’s view of Sherlock was better than anyone’s because he was closest to the door. What he saw frightened him more than Thomas’ sucking, more than Carlos’ undulating, more than anything else he’d seen during his time in this often frightening place. Sherlock’s hand was suddenly engulfed in purple fire, and he bared his teeth like an animal would. John immediately asked himself whom he would take on if he needed to be Sherlock’s second in a battle against Jane and Loki. Fortunately, he didn’t even have time to realize how absurd the question was before Sherlock controlled his reaction.

Sherlock’s gaze fell back on Loki, and the look they gave one another finally allowed John to comprehend the depths of their long relationship and the fact that he never could, never would understand it in full. The look was centuries, it was rising and falling empires, it was traveling light, it was profound and it was devastating. But the six words Sherlock spoke next put all that in perspective.

“Get her out of my home.”

In his wake, there wasn’t time for silence or reflection. “Get your things,” said Loki. “Come on.”

Jane stood and moved straight for the door, head down. When she reached Loki, he placed his hand at the small of her back, that same soft, protective gesture that John could tell he’d used a million times before. Probably even on Sherlock. Four minutes later, the sound of the bell filled the shop as they left.

 

 

“I don’t like to stay in the same place for too long.” That was one of the first things Loki had said to her after she’d agreed to be his student. Everything Sherlock had said about her that day in the shop had been right of course, from the stargazing as a little girl to the heartbreak she’d faced only a few months ago in her sophomore year of college to the way Loki had approached her in a diner in the middle of the night, offering her more. She had loved the way he’d told her: after she said half-heartedly and somewhat uncomfortably that she was an astronomy major, he’d leaned forward and murmured, “What if I told you there’s more to this universe than you ever thought possible, love?”

She sighed even now when she thought about it. He’d certainly delivered. And he’d been truthful; he didn’t like to stay in the same place for too long. Jane definitely didn’t mind it. This way, she got to see so much more, and every night, she looked at the stars from a different angle. Sherlock hadn’t known that it was the connection she had made with her father when he’d taught her the constellations as a child that kept her forever turning her eyes heavenward. She was still her daddy’s little stargazer, even all these years after his death.

After Sherlock kicked them out, they moved on to Bermuda. They stayed in separate bungalows which hung over crystal clear waters. A week passed uneventfully; simple incantations and time spent honing her power, but at night, Jane grew restless. One of these evenings, she attempted some meditation, but it was always hard to think past what had happened at the shop. Sherlock’s looks still haunted her (the one he gave her as well as the one he gave Loki), and she had the feeling he’d cursed her just a little to keep remembering those looks for all time. It seemed tame as far as curses went, but she couldn’t think about anything else.

Or maybe it was all the noise coming from Loki’s bungalow.

Finally, she stepped outside and marched across the deck before rapping on his door. She could hear his laughter much more clearly now. The TV was also blaring. “What are you doing?”

“Watching  _The Lost Boys_ ” came Loki’s reply from the wide-open windows. “I forgot how fantastic it is. Remember Kiefer Sutherland’s hair?”

Jane shook her head and threw a glance over her shoulder at the calm, dark waters, the softly billowing trees. They were in one of the most beautiful places Jane had ever seen, and here he was shut up inside, watching an eighties vampire flick. She had trouble understanding why he acted the way he did sometimes until she remembered that he was essentially older than old. She thought about asking him how long he’d been around, but it just never seemed like the right time. Plus she had been chickening out lately, a trait Jane usually never displayed.

With a sigh, she walked into the bungalow and waited until he moved over on the bed. Lying down, she watched the movie with him for a bit in silence. Then, she finally allowed herself to glance at the reclining form of his long body stretched out beside her. She knew the names for all the feelings he inspired within her: admiration, irritation, confusion, heat.

“Loki.”

“Hm.”

“Do you ever think about having sex with me?”

He raised an eyebrow and turned to meet her gaze. Only his head moved.

“I know you said you wanted to wait until I was ready. But you’ve done it before with your apprentices.”

“Yes.”

“And with Sherlock.”

“Yes,” he said with a sigh, “but that doesn’t mean anything. He was just trying to get a rise out of you, Jane. And I’ve told you before, I want you to come to me when and if you’re ready.”

Jane made a face. “But it  _will_  happen is what you’re essentially saying.”

“I don’t have futuresight, Jane.”

She rolled her eyes. “You’re definitely acting like you do.”

His little laugh both infuriated her and made her want to jump him. Somehow, everything seemed trivial to Loki, the punchline of a joke or a way to show off. A product of living as long as he had, she supposed. But when she made him laugh, it made the heat return to her bones and melt her through.

“I can wait,” he repeated. Turning back to look at her, he murmured, “For you, I’d wait another long lifetime, as long as your heart needs.”

“Pfft!”

Her scoff brought a smile to his lips. “Not very convincing, huh? Okay.” He brushed his fingers lightly across the soft skin of her cheek. In spite of herself, Jane closed her eyes. “I’ll wait for you, love. As long as you like.”

“But this is kind of your thing. You sleep with your pupils.” Her voice lowered. “And then piss them off.”

He shifted, a bit uncomfortable. “Sherlock was… a special case. We were together for a very long time. But please trust me when I say I’m not looking to force you into anything. Every one of my apprentices came to me and asked that we make our relationship sexual in nature, hoping to learn more in that respect.”

“Did Sherlock?”

She received only a brief pause that hinted at the depths to which this question affected him. “Yes.”

“Then we should go back.” That actually seemed to surprise Loki, and he moved his body as well as his head when he turned to look at her this time. “I’ll be more respectful, and I’ll take his teachings seriously. I promise.”

He took a deep breath as he thought on the matter, but his eyes met hers, he looked relieved. She tried not to concern herself with asking why Loki wanted to see someone who clearly hated him so much.

“All right. We’ll return and smooth things over, if he’ll have us.” He touched her fingers, and she felt her magick curling inside them. “You can gain so much knowledge from him, I know it.”

She nodded, trying to keep herself focused on everything but his hands and his silken voice, and sat back to watch the movie again. After a pause, she added, “But I’m not worried that you’re gonna force me into anything like that. I’m pretty sure I already have more power than you.”

Another long laugh was her reward. “I have no doubt about that, love. It comes off you in waves.”

She tried not to sigh. The way he called her love always made her think of the first vision she’d had of her not-too-distant future: their bodies intertwined under luxuriant sheets, his hands roaming over her skin, and the word love twisting over his tongue and out of his lips so many times that she forgot what her name truly was.

 

 

“Sherlock?”

In answer, John received a sharp hum and decided that was close enough to an invitation. He moved into the parlor and poured himself a cup of tea. It made him feel rather smug that his chair was vacated again, and he sat down with purpose. Things had gone back to the way they’d been before the visit, before the call, and John liked it so much better. As usual during their evenings together, Sherlock was reading, his glasses perched on the bridge of his nose.

“Why do you wear those? I mean, you have all this magick, can’t you… give yourself perfect vision?”

Sherlock removed the glasses and folded them under his book with a sigh. “Though I’m able to sustain my life past that of an average human’s and then some, being an old witch still takes its toll.”

“So you need reading glasses ‘cause you’re old?”

Without responding, Sherlock opened his book once more.

“Mm. So, uh, Loki… He must be older than you.” He waited to see if Sherlock would get angry, but he didn’t.  

“By quite a bit, yes.”

“How much? If you’re nine hundred something––”

“Nine hundred fifteen.”

“Right, so does that mean that he was around for like… ancient Egypt or that he just crawled out of the primordial ooze?”

Sherlock looked up and did something John never would have expected. He gave a low snort that turned into a deep bout of laughter, lasting much longer than John had ever heard him laugh previously. For the first time, John felt truly comfortable in Sherlock’s presence. He sat back in his chair and smirked.

“Quite proud of that one, aren’t you?” Sherlock asked after he’d finished laughing.

“Only a bit.” John glanced at Sherlock over his teacup as he took a sip. “You feeling better? Now that they’re gone?”

Sherlock gave another hum in response, except it was much softer this time. He turned a page in his book.

“Hey, Sherlock.”

“Yes. What is it?”

John waited until the witch got exasperated and deigned to meet his gaze again.

“What?”

“I was wondering if you might consider… doing me a favor. I mean, I’ve been here a while now. And I’ve been thinking about this for a while. And I really, I really think I’d be good.”

“Say it, John.”

As they stared at each other, John felt something pulling him toward Sherlock, the way gravity pulls a moon in its orbit toward the great planet around which it spins. John had often felt like a moon to a planet, or a planet to its sun, after meeting Sherlock, but no more so than he did in this moment. He sat forward softly and stared into Sherlock’s eyes.

“I want you to teach me magick.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “And he says,  
> ‘I wish that I could be like the cool kids  
> Cause all the cool kids, they seem to fit in.  
> I wish that I could be like the cool kids, like the cool kids.  
> I wish that I could be like the cool kids  
> Cause all the cool kids, they seem to get it.  
> I wish that I could be like the cool kids, like the cool kids.’”  
> -“Cool Kids” by Echosmith


	6. In Which Things Start to Heat Up (Hundreds of Years Ago)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “I found God  
> In a catalytic converter  
> In Topeka  
> On a Monday night  
> I taste blood every time I think of summer  
> If that’s true, I’m in for quite a treat  
> ‘Cause I’m beggin’ for the sun in a mid-Missouri winter  
> Waiting desperately to get out of town  
> No, you can’t keep a good man down”

Sherlock had become exhausted with saying no. Although, that wasn’t really true. He usually never minded saying no, to anyone. It may have been his first word come to think, if he could remember that far back. Those days spent in the mud, his head resting on wood planks as he stared up at the clouds, the same words he received from everyone he met playing over and over in his ears: that he “ought to keep what he knew about others to himself, lest someone brand him as a witch.” And ever since those days, whenever Sherlock said no, especially now that his voice was much smoother, darker, and icier than it had been when he was a boy, people listened.

But lately, everyone who received one of his noes was frantically trying to turn them into yeses.

John was inexorable. Sherlock continued to tell himself that, eventually, he would lose interest as young men tended to do in things which did not come easily to them. But his powers of deduction were much stronger than that, even without the mind reading. He knew John, a boy of seventeen who had never just had things handed to him, would fight tooth and nail for something that mattered this much. And it did matter to him, from the way he spoke about it.

“Please, Sherlock! I don’t see why not, I mean, Loki has an apprentice. Most witches take apprentices, don’t they? And I’ve learned everything else there is to know about the shop, like taking care of the animals and cleaning and helping out with the customers. C’mon! You have to at least consider it. There’s got––Sher-SHERLOCK!”

After the simple noses hadn’t been enough, Sherlock had snapped at him. “Not everyone has the spark, you know! Do you truly assume yourself to be one of the gifted few?”

John had made a face then, full of so much hurt and frustration that Sherlock had banged his way out of the parlor and into his bedroom. He sat at his rolltop desk and chain smoked for hours. The most frustrating thing about all of it was, by now, Sherlock knew for a fact John actually did possess the gift. He’d had a vision of him days ago in which he had seemed determined… Now that the vision had become less murky, Sherlock could clearly see the blue mist surrounding John’s fists as he honed it, perfected it. Sherlock saw the image every time he closed his eyes.

And on top of his issues with the shop boy, Loki had returned, contrite as ever, with the obedient Jane in tow. She wore an earnest face which nicely matched her words of apology and resolve to learn all she could, but Sherlock could easily see that, deep down, she was doing this for Loki. Though the two of them still clearly weren’t having sex, Sherlock knew their path as well as they did. But may the spirit of the universe help them if they fucked in his home…

It took a great deal of convincing, of turning yeses into noes, and even a few agreements to penance on Loki’s part, but Sherlock allowed them to stay. He could already tell John was livid, but he didn’t care. Let it show him who was master here and who was the one working off his debts. Sherlock only needed to train Jane for a few hours every day, but John sulked all twenty-four.

 

 

“Got everything you need?”

He tried to tell himself it couldn’t possibly sound as rude out loud as it had in his head, but when Jane looked up from her book with a blank expression that clearly said, “Thanks a lot, but don’t fucking ask if you don’t give a damn,” John sighed.

“Fine. Okay, yeah.”

He didn’t have a problem with Jane per se. He’d actually been somewhat attracted to her when she’d shown up in her red cloak. Okay, really attracted to her. But he still resented the fact that Sherlock was teaching her and not him. Who’d cleaned Morgana’s cage every day and replaced the papers at the bottom with new ones ( _Uppity bird. Couldn’t even go on newspaper, has to be canvas pages._ )? Who’d fed Thomas even though it disquieted him to his very core? Who’d complimented Sherlock on his ability to help customers find everything they were looking for, to create such a beautiful living mural out of the far wall of him room, to make the best fucking tea John had ever had touch his tongue ( _Ugh. God, that tea. I could use a cup now._ )?

But no. Sherlock had agreed to teach Jane instead because Loki always managed to talk Sherlock into what he wanted. It rubbed John up the wrong way, mostly because Sherlock didn’t seem easily swayed by anyone. He definitely wasn’t being swayed by John.

As John moved to close the door, Jane sat up. She looked like she was all ready for bed, wearing a big t-shirt advertising The Clash and covered in an Afghan that, even though it was strange to think it, must belong to Sherlock. She put her book aside (a beat-up copy of Carl Sagan’s  _Cosmos_ ) and stared at John.

“Do you have a problem with me? Because honestly, I don’t care. After this training is over, which Sherlock says should take another week or so, I’ll be gone and out of your hair. Sound good?”

“Yeah, well, I should say so. You’ve been here for ten days already, so…”

“I find it interesting that you’ve kept count.”

John just clenched his jaw and looked away.

“You’re… jealous?” asked Jane in the way people do when they’re trying to answer a question in class with a response they are only ninety-nine percent sure of.

After first wearing his confusion simply, John glared when he realized what she was doing. “Hey,  _HEY._ You’re reading my mind. Stop it!” He tried not to think about the fact that it had never really bothered him all that much when Sherlock did it.

“Sorry, Jeeze!” Jane flopped against the back of the couch and sighed. “I’m not into him if that’s what you’re worried about. I mean, he’s all yours, trust me.”

“No, no, I don’t…” John sniffed and reddened a little. “I’m not… Look, I just… I want him to teach me and… He won’t. So.”

“Oh.” Jane’s face actually turned into one of sympathy for a moment. “Well, I mean, I don’t know why. You’ve clearly got magick.”

Feeling a light inside him turn on, John grinned. “I… I do?”

“Yeah.” Jane moved aside a little on the couch. Once John realized she was inviting him to sit, she was talking again. “I can see it. It’s very you. And blue.”

“Blue,” murmured John. The thought gave him the confidence to move across the room and sit next to her. “Really? You can see it?”

“Yeah.” Jane smiled a little, and John wished they had started things off like this. He was still incredibly intimidated by her, but he liked thinking that they might be friends, maybe more. The fact of Loki wasn’t really entering into his mind as much as it should have been.

“You said something before. That, um, anyone with half a spark could read minds. Is that true?”

Jane’s voice dropped. “Oh yeah. It was one of the first things Loki taught me. It’s even easier than calling the magick up and giving it form. He actually said most people wear their thoughts on their faces all the time. It’s just the trick of being able to tune in.”

“That sounds like something Sherlock would say.”

“Yeah,” Jane said again but with less gusto this time. “It does.”

Perhaps they both spent a moment considering what they still didn’t know or understand, the depths of that relationship and why it was still so bitter even now, at least on the surface.

“Do you think you could teach me how to do it?” John finally asked.

“I’m not a fully trained witch.”

“Yeah, but you could at least teach me something you’ve mastered. Something that easy, especially.”

Jane paused. Then she looked at John, her expression softening. “Okay.” She turned to face him straight on. “Place all your focus on me.”

John did, squinting a bit.  

“Now, when you do, you’re going to want to listen, but not to yourself. It’s like you’re trying to hear a conversation going on kind of far away so you quiet everything else, all the stupid thoughts in your brain and the feelings of your body. When you start out, you have to be looking at the person and concentrating on them one hundred percent. After a while, you can do it without that level of absorption, but it takes time. Think you can give it a try?”

He nodded. For the first hour, it was rather unsuccessful. John had been reading a bit in the magick books lately, sneaking tips on how to tune in to that other side of one’s self when Sherlock wasn’t looking. He had never meditated or done anything close to it, but he was diligent. And bless her, Jane was patient.

Finally, as he watched Jane, he thought he heard her whispering, even though she clearly wasn’t. He listened harder, concentrated more closely, and was able to make out a few words.

“You’re cold.”

Jane laughed. “I am, yeah.” She grabbed the Afghan and wrapped it tighter around herself. “Good job, John.”

He couldn’t have been happier if he’d tried.

 

 

For three days, they worked on the mind reading. John was able to get to the point where he was reading more than she was specifically laying out for him in her thoughts, and she decided it was time for him to give it a rest. When John protested, they tried to come up with something else to do.

“Can’t you teach me more?” John asked. “Maybe a spell or two? How to conjure something or make a potion. Or what about that whole manifestation thing? I want to see what my magick looks like!”

“I told you, that can be pretty hard for a beginner. And you don’t like meditating.”

John sighed. He wanted to learn more, to know everything. It wasn’t fair that they were already running into roadblocks. If Sherlock would just teach him, he wouldn’t have to learn things second-hand from another novice…

“Hey,” Jane said with annoyance.

“Sorry.”

She sighed and was quiet for a long time. Suddenly, she grinned wide and beautifully. It made John want to hold his breath. “Okay, you wanna try something? Let’s read someone else’s mind. Together.”

“Wha––Really?”

“Yeah. I’ll read theirs, and you can read mine.”

“Whose?”

“Sherlock’s.”

John let out a surprised snort. “Do you have a death wish?”

“He might not notice. He went into his bedroom hours ago. He’s probably sleeping.”

John paused. “Is there a way you can tell?”

Jane grabbed his hand and closed her eyes. “Concentrate on me again, okay?”

Her hands were small and soft, but her fingers were strong as they gripped John’s wrists. He swallowed. “Okay.”

He practiced the same exercise he’d been doing for the past few days, and for a while, he got nothing. He was nervous, sure, but she also wasn’t giving him much. He began to wonder if there was a way you could block people out of your mind when his thoughts were filled with a memory that was as bright as the vibrant colors on a television set. He squeezed her hands without thinking anything of it.

 

 

_Sherlock stands in the hallway of an inn in Cairo, Egypt, indecisive and painfully young. He raps his knuckles on the door twice._

_“Yes?” comes the smooth voice from inside._

_Sherlock enters the room and takes a deep breath. “I, uh… I was hoping we might speak.”_

_Loki looks up from his book and smiles at the boy in front of him. “Of course, Sherlock, what is it?”_

_“There’s something I’ve… Well, I never thought I’d consider it, but now that I have, from all sides and to near physical exhaustion, I… I…” He runs his fingers through his curls, pulling at them a bit in his frustration. Then, composing himself, he finally says, “It doesn’t matter. You know what I’ve been debating. What I am here for.”_

_“Yes,” whispers Loki. “But that doesn’t mean I don’t want to hear you say it.”_

_Sherlock looks up at his master, his teacher, and sighs. He wasn’t expecting to ever be in this position, but he had never met anyone like Loki. And now that they had traveled together for some time, Sherlock gradually learning the depths of his own possibilities to be even farther beyond what he’d realized (even with his extreme intelligence), he found himself fascinated with the man in general. He found himself feeling things he’d never felt before, he found himself…_

_“I want you. To teach me how to love you. Physically.”_

_Loki’s lips curl slightly, but the smile is kind. He holds out a hand to the boy still standing by the door._

_“Come here.”_

_Sherlock moves to Loki and sits on the bed with him. Their words are soft, sweet. Some are obscured by the sands of time._

_“I can make it so it doesn’t hurt,” Loki whispers._

_“I’m ready.”_

_The kiss is gentle at first, but both men soon let their passion get the better of them. It seems in an instant that Sherlock is on his back, his clothes on the floor beside him. Loki kisses his chest and runs a hand laced in green light down his body. The moan that escapes Sherlock is unabashed and loud, sounding more high-pitched than his normal speaking voice. He shudders with pleasure as Loki lifts his legs to wrap higher up on his back._

_“Mmm––! Ah. Loki.”_

_They fuck like that, slow, steady, until dawn breaks over the horizon. Sherlock insists on more and Loki chides him._

_“You’re insatiable on all fronts. Nothing’s ever enough for you.”_

_“Except your incessant chatter. I could do without that.”_

_“You liked it last night,” Loki murmurs and bites Sherlock on his long neck, right beneath his ear. And Sherlock. Sherlock laughs like a boy in love._

The vision shifts and changes like a lens going out and coming back into focus. A new location, a new memory.

_Sherlock sits at his desk in a small cabin in Salem, Massachusetts. He is reading by lamplight and frowning at the words on the page. Beside him sits a small owl, perched on top of the lantern. She blinks her large eyes and silently fluffs her feathers. Sherlock absently holds out a hand for her to nibble on as he continues to read._

_“We’ve been here for ages,” groans Loki. He falls down on the bed which sits behind Sherlock’s desk. “And they’re onto us.”_

_“There is still much to be learned here,” Sherlock mutters, hardly paying attention to him. “If you gave a damn about any of it, you would be able to gain something as well, instead of just dreaming about your next destination.”_

_“You know, you used to love me enough to not say things like that out loud,” Loki says pointedly. While Sherlock continues to ignore him, Morgana coos softly._

_“Getting a little domestic, aren’t you? First you got that bird, now you don’t want to leave this place even though it’s falling down around you.”_

_Sherlock turns to glance at Loki over his shoulder. “I’ve told you. I want to learn the extent of my power and how to achieve it. It’s not enough for me to cast a few spells and be done with it.”_

_“And you weren’t able to gain enough knowledge from me.”_

_“We both know it.” Despite the haughty tone to his voice, Sherlock does not look at him._

_Loki stands and moves across the room. He leans down over the back of Sherlock’s chair, Loki’s mouth against his ear._

_“We do,” he murmurs. “And I’ve never minded it. But I don’t like when you’re dismissive.” He runs his lips over Sherlock’s neck. “And you’d do well to remember that there are still things I can teach you.”_

_Sherlock closes his eyes, a sigh trying to escape him that he immediately smothers. “If you.. tamper with my concentration, we’ll never leave this place.”_

_Loki smiles, a devil’s grin. “And what if I demolish it altogether?” His hand snakes its way down Sherlock’s chest to cup him over his trousers. This time, Sherlock sighs._

_“You’re a demon.”_

_“You’ve been listening to too many sermons.” Loki licks and kisses the nape of Sherlock’s neck and all but lifts him out of the chair. Sherlock grins, twisting his thin body around so he can back Loki toward the bed._

_“All right. But I get to be inside you.”_

_Loki laughs. “We’ll see.” He lets Sherlock wrestle him onto the bed then wraps his long legs around him and flips him over. Sherlock laughs, though deeper and more sensually now, and they join fast and hard. As Sherlock cries out, he lets his head fall back and he sees the flash of green in Loki’s normally bright blue eyes._

_“Fuck me,” he whispers. “Loki. Oh, Loki.”_

John saw the world swim back in front of him as it was: Jane holding his hands in hers and staring at the couch, the floor underneath them solid but the shop itself still spinning somewhere in the middle of the Void. Realizing his mouth had gone dry, John swallowed, and his throat clicked.

“Well, um…”

“Yeah.” Jane let go of his hands, and he was more grateful than he thought he would be. He realized that she had disappeared into herself somewhat and was actually glad of that too. His body had reacted strongly to the vision, the memory, and he prayed she wouldn’t notice it.

John turned away, shifting his weight and trying to do his best to hide his expanding erection. “I should.. Go.”

“Yeah.” It seemed to be all she could say. She didn’t look at him when he stood, and John moved away from her as quickly as possible, though his walk was, naturally, a bit awkward.

“G’night.”

“‘Night.”

Once outside the door, he sighed, breathing slowly to try and bring it all down. Instead, he remembered the little touches (Sherlock’s fingertips brushing against the ends of Loki’s hair) and the big ones (Loki’s fingers, glowing with his magick and pressing inside Sherlock as he moaned). He growled, trying to push down all of it so he could just get back to his bloody room and…

“John.”

If he could have pissed himself, he probably would have.

“Sh-Sherlock. Yes, yes. What is it?” John gazed up at him, trying to achieve a look of half-surprise and half-composure.

“I believe you should return to your room now. It’s getting late.”

“Yeah, yeah. I was just, um, checking in. On Jane. Making sure she had pillows and stuff, you know.”

“Of course.” Sherlock’s smile seemed pleasant, but he was showing too many teeth. He laid a hand down on John’s shoulder, and John felt the extent of his presence, his power. It made his own teeth click together.

“It’s good of you to make her comfortable.”

“Mm.”

“I’m going to bed as well.”

“Mm, mm-hm.”

“Oh, and John?”

It was hard, but he managed to squeak out a “Yes?”

“If you ever read my mind again without my permission, I’ll suck out your soul and stuff it into a vase.”

Without another word, Sherlock turned on his heel and walked back into his bedroom, shutting the door behind him. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “From here on you can count on all things going  
> The way they must have from the start  
> (All you feel, all you feel)  
> All you feel is the current flowing through you  
> And seizing your infected heart  
> I found God in a catalytic converter  
> In Topeka on a Monday night  
> I found God in a catalytic converter  
> In Topeka on a Monday night  
> Every saint has a past, every sinner has a future  
> Saint has a past, every sinner has a future  
> Saint has a past, every sinner has a future  
> Saint has a past, every sinner has a future, sinner has a future…”  
> -“Topeka” by Ludo


	7. In Which Music Soothes a Savage Heart

The next week had John walking on eggshells and doing his best to never again incur the kind of wrath that could put him in a fancy vase like the new one Carlos now occupied. It bothered him from time to time that Sherlock had so easily created the current vase that housed Carlos after he’d made it seem like it was this horrifically difficult thing to do. But truly, John just didn’t want to suffer the same fate. Whether or not Sherlock even  _would_  do it was not a question he felt the need to ask, just like the question of whether or not he  _could_ do it.

To keep things civil, John did all his chores without being told and without complaint. He stayed out of everyone’s way, especially while the training sessions were taking place. And he never asked about learning magick. He mostly just gave up on any of it, although sometimes he tried to stretch the one power he knew how to use. He attempted to read the minds of the people who came into the shop, and while it was interesting, he was never as fascinated as when he’d been in Sherlock’s head. Once, late at night, he’d tried to stretch past the thoughts of those physically nearest to him in the desperate, unlikely hope of finding someone in his family. He began to miss them more acutely now, the product of loneliness. He did not try to read Sherlock’s mind, not even for an instant.

It felt like the shop itself had grown cold, though he held onto one hope: that once Jane’s training ended, the interlopers would leave and he might be able to sit with Sherlock again in the parlor, to drink his tea and make him laugh. He missed that more than anything.

Unfortunately, things did not go as John had hoped, and he was starting to suspect they rarely ever did.

When Jane had her last day of training, she seemed unusually quiet, as did Sherlock and Loki. They all had dinner together (steaks John had prepared, without any help either, thankyouverymuch), and spoke little. Finally, John forced himself to ask what was on his mind, had been on his mind since the moment they’d arrived. Just in a nicer way.

“So where’re you off to next, hm?”

Jane looked up from her steak knowingly. It bothered John how she looked at him like that, and he felt like she knew something he didn’t. Though, being a clairvoyant, she almost probably did.

“Actually,” said Loki before taking another sip of the wine Sherlock had produced from likely another room John would never see, “we’ve decided to stay a little longer.”

“Oh.” John’s mouth tightened into a straight line. “That’s… Great.  _Great_.”

“Really sounds like you mean that,” mumbled Jane around a mouthful of baked potato.

“I… Just. Excuse me.” John stood and went straight to his room, the sour attitude carrying him all the way to the point of slamming the door, although he didn’t quite get there as he was still conscious of Sherlock’s variable wrath. He felt rather like he was throwing a tantrum without the tears and just flopped down on his mattress. O oozed back and forth sympathetically. As John turned his head to gaze up at the beautiful landscape now before him, he was taken by the image of a wet forest just after a rainstorm. Moss hung heavy and bright green fungus made a thick carpet of the forest floor. Mist rose in lazy circles that looked so calm, John wished again that he could just reach out and touch it.

He moved to the sliding glass door that separated him from the beautiful scene and pulled it open. Before he realized what he was doing, he realized what had happened.

_Oh, God,_  he thought.  _It_ is _real._

One hand cautiously stretched out into the scenery and wasn’t pulled clean off. Eventually, he moved forward so far that he could feel the damp air on his face. When he stepped onto the ground below, he still didn’t find anything to fear. It was so beautiful and felt so mysterious, so wonderful. For a moment more, he convinced himself that he’d stumbled upon an actual woodland realm until he let the next realization set in.

_You were telling the truth. This isn’t real; it’s you. Is this… your mind?_

There was no answer, which surprised him. It seemed that Sherlock always wanted to fight and was very private. If John really was walking around inside the witch’s brain, he expected to get an earful. But he didn’t. Just silence.

For a little over half an hour, John wandered in the forest, always careful to stay close enough to his bedroom that he could still see it. When he finally felt he’d had enough, he crawled back inside and shut the glass door again. Then he went looking for Sherlock.

 

 

“He’s young, and he’s only frustrated,” Loki said as Sherlock poured him another cup of tea.

“He’ll do well to learn now that the world is a frustrating place.” Sherlock leaned back in his chair and, without moving his own extremities, replaced the teapot back on the table.

“You were even younger when you started.” Loki looked up at him over his cup. “What were you? Sixteen?”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“He wants you to teach him.”

“I am not a teacher. I’ve never been interested in taking on an apprentice, and I am not going to start now just because he whines like a child being denied a toy.”

“You’ve never taken on shop boys either.” Sipping his tea, Loki paused to let his words sink in. Sherlock just scowled. “You know I’m right, at least about this.”

“Oh wonder of wonders,” Sherlock said with a voice so thick, it sounded like his tongue had coated each word in molasses. “The oldest man in the world happens to know a thing or two. And look how modest he is!”

Loki nodded softly. “Still breathing fire,  _dragón_.” The words pierced Sherlock right to his core, but he pretended like they hadn’t. Instead, he just lifted his reading glasses from the table, as if he meant to clean them.

They didn’t speak for some time, but for old witches, it was hard to determine exactly how long they sat in silence. It could have been ten seconds, or it could have been an hour. Finally, Loki said the words he’d been keeping on the shelf for the past few weeks.

“That day you sent us away. Did you believe Jane when she said it, that he was the one?”

“She did not even know of what she spoke.”

“No, not the entire story anyway. But you do believe her, don’t you?”

“I don’t wish to speak on that.”

“You had the vision, Sherlock. About this… person you hadn’t met yet. And it was him, wasn’t it? It was John.”

“It’s finished,” Sherlock snapped, clearly ready to end the discussion. Loki stared back at him, unfazed.

“You know I met you when you were just a boy with no concept of what lay inside, above, or beneath you. And you know silence isn’t my forte.”

“Then change the subject.”

“Fine,” muttered Loki. “Build your walls. I already have my answer.” He lifted up his book and went back to reading. Sherlock folded his hands in front of his mouth, a common habit he’d practiced since childhood, and tried to ignore thoughts of the vision he’d had long ago but which was still clear as ever: one of a faceless man holding him tight as Sherlock lay in his arms. He had been trying desperately not to cry, yet he had felt safer and more protected than he remembered feeling at any other time in his long, strange existence.

 

 

As he made his way to bed, he noticed John in the hallway. Of course, he’d known him to be out there skulking around, but Sherlock was vaguely surprised he’d stayed so long. He tried not to let even the slightest bit of astonishment show.

“John. What is is?”

“That… I dunno, that living mural thing in my room. It’s you, isn’t it? I mean, I was in it.”

“Were you.” Sherlock tried once more not to seem unfazed, his voice becoming even deeper than usual.

“Yeah. Couldn’t you feel me?”

Sherlock made a mental note to keep a better eye on things like that. Still, John obviously hadn’t seen anything important. “Of course. Is there any reason why you’re bringing it to my attention?”

“Well… It just felt. Good. And I liked being there. But I wasn’t trying to read your mind or anything.”

“Understood.” He turned back toward his bedroom and was almost home free until John spoke again.

“Is there another reason why you won’t teach me? I mean, I know you didn’t want to teach Jane in the first place, but…” He shrugged away from Sherlock, and his motives were clear enough without Sherlock having to read his mind: half-fear from the last time they’d had a discussion such as this one and half-embarrassment.

“Forget it,” he said.

Sherlock turned back to watch John walk to his room and close his bedroom door. He didn’t sleep that night either, but it was hard to remember the last night he truly had.

 

 

A few more days passed in the same way. John was starting to feel himself come down with a general malaise, and he went through the motions of his work. When they finished dinner (which was largely free of the kind of loaded conversations they’d first had when Loki and Jane had come to stay), he simply went back to his room and spent time with O. He did, however, become bold enough to sit with the sliding door open and his feet out in whatever terrain was available to him. The night before, it had been a lonely stretch of highway.

On this night, however, as he lay with his feet in the sand and his head on the carpet, he thought he heard music. Lifting his head, he crawled to his feet and went to door. It was definitely music. Sounded a lot like a violin.

John moved out into the hallway and followed the notes to the shop. At night, it was usually left empty, but this time, there was a full crowd scene. Jane was sitting on the glass counter, her legs crossed and her hands in her lap. On one of the old chairs sat Loki and beside him Morgana was perched comfortably, slightly ruffling her feathers. Loki reached out to stroke her, and she bit at his fingers while he did. Across from them sat Sherlock on a chest, the contents of which John did not know even though he dusted it every day. Under his chin was a violin and he played it slowly, somberly. John didn’t recognize the tune, but it drew him close as he would someday realize everything about Sherlock did.

He moved to lean against the wall as Sherlock continued to play. The same melody repeated a few times until Jane, sort of suddenly, began to sing. Her voice, though not operatic, was soft and clear like a bell ringing gently.

“Oh, the bitter winds are comin’ in,  
And I’m already missing the summer.  
Stockholm’s cold, but I’ve been told  
I was born to endure this kind of weather.  
When it’s you I find like a ghost in my mind,  
I am defeated, and I gladly wear the crown.”

The violin stayed tucked under Sherlock’s jaw as he continued to play. John was awash with some new emotion, and his mind was at first tied up in the fact that he thought Sherlock had hated her. But, then again, how can you truly hate someone who has come to you in earnestness for help?

“I’ll be your Emmylou, and I’ll be your June if  
You’ll be my Gram and my Johnny too.  
No, I’m not askin’ much of you.  
Just sing, little darlin’, sing with me.”

John gripped the wall as he watched the three of them, seemingly so much older and wiser than he, even though Jane was only a few years his senior. He felt like a child at an adults’ party, though he knew he was so ready to learn more. He thought he noticed Sherlock’s eyes flicker upwards to meet his gaze, or perhaps it was just a trick of the light.

Loki smiled, though no one noticed, and enjoyed the fact that Jane had never told him what a beautiful voice she possessed. Sherlock read John’s mind without comment as he continued to play. And Jane sang on, considering how much that particular tune reflected her own life at the moment, and perhaps not just hers.

“Now so much I know that things just don’t grow  
If you don’t bless them with your patience.  
And I’ve been there before, I held up the door  
For every stranger with a promise.  
But I’m holding back, that’s the strength that I lack.  
Every morning keeps returning at my window.  
And it brings me to you, and I won’t just pass through.  
But I’m not asking for a storm.”

John closed his eyes to better hear the music and thought he heard the whisper of thoughts in that deep, rich voice which caused his body to coil in readiness whenever it called.

_Yes_  was all it seemed to say.

“I’ll be your Emmylou, and I’ll be your June if  
You’ll be my Gram and my Johnny too.  
No, I’m not askin’ much of you.  
Just sing, little darlin’, sing with me.”

Sherlock lowered the violin, and the sound of his music and Jane’s voice echoed in the room for several seconds after. They all stood and drifted back toward their rooms, the late-night serenade over as quickly as it had begun. Something still gave John the courage to follow Sherlock to his bedroom again.

“Sherlock?”

John watched him turn, though Sherlock only gave him his profile.

“Did you say that in the shop…? ‘Yes’?”

Sherlock nodded once. “I did.”

“What did you mean?”

“I meant yes, of course.” His voice was kinder than usual. It wouldn’t have been detectable to those who weren’t accustomed to spending every waking moment in the company of his mercurial temperament, but it absolutely was to John.

In barely a whisper, John asked, “Yes, what?”

“Yes, I’ll teach you.” And yet again, he left John in the hall, full of questions and utterly spellbound.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “And yes  
> I might  
> Have lied to you.  
> Well, you wouldn’t  
> Benefit  
> From knowing the truth.  
> I was frightened  
> But I  
> Held fast.  
> I need you  
> Now at  
> Long last.  
> I’ll be your Emmylou and I’ll be your June if  
> You’ll be my Gram and my Johnny too.  
> No, I’m not askin’ much of you.  
> Just sing, little darlin’, sing with me.”
> 
> -“Emmylou” by First Aid Kit


	8. In Which Lessons are Learned and a Dragon’s Fire Turns to Smoke

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “In my left hand, there is the familiar.  
> In my right hand, there’s the great unknown.  
> I can see the madly different grass there,  
> But I’m drawn to wilder nights at home.”

“You’ve truly been misled, you know. Sent into this completely backwards. I could end Jane Foster for teaching you what she did in such a haphazard manner. Magick isn’t just about reading minds or making a good cup of tea. It requires control, concentration, artistry, craftsmanship, emotion, pain. It is not a parlor trick, it is an entity that lives within you. Your very soul, your essence… Oh, for God’s sake, stop smiling!”

“Sorry.” John looked down at the large oak table, but he wasn’t able to make his grin disappear. He was finally in one of the rooms that had been off-limits to him for a long time: the room which Sherlock had once referred to as his lab. It wasn’t cold or sterile the way John thought a laboratory would need to be. Instead, it was much like the shop: old and full of things.

The walls were lined with shelves full of unidentifiable objects and strange jars. The latter were clear, and they shone from within in different colors, their labels sometimes in English, sometimes in other languages John didn’t recognize. The table dominated much of the room, and different tools, bowls, and books were scattered across it. John didn’t need to ask to know that Sherlock had some kind of personal system which let him keep things this messy and still be functional.

“Now. As for the beginning stages of your training, there are several bits of… well, let’s call them homework. You’ll need to meditate for at least two hours a night.”

John groaned. “Two hours of meditating?! Is it really all that necessary?”

The look he received made John shut up immediately. Sherlock turned his gaze back to the table and ran his hands over the old and gnarled finish.

“If you are questioning the necessity of learning to simultaneously control and tap into specific functions of your body and mind as well as being able to connect on a subconscious level with your magick itself, then I cannot teach you anything.”

“Stop saying that! Look, I’m here, okay? Can’t we just… start with twenty minutes a day or something?”

Sherlock turned to look at him again, somehow seeming softer and much more curious than before. “What is it you do after dinner?”

“Mm. I dunno. I read sometimes. Mostly, I just sort of stare at the window or veg out.”

Sherlock smiled gently. “And what do you think that is, John?”

John’s eyebrows raised. “Oh.”

“Essentially, you’ll have to employ some actual control and put no small amount of work into it, which is what you are no doubt protesting. However, when I tell you something is necessary to wielding the magick inside you in the way you’ve seen the rest of us do, this will go much easier if you begin to take my word as gospel.”

“Sorry,” John said with only a drop of his usual sarcasm.

Sherlock returned to listing John’s assignments. “You’re also going to need to read the quintessential books on magick.”

“Yeah, okay. Done.”

“As well as spend time on your own, practicing the techniques I teach you.”

“Sure, okay.”

Sherlock rolled his eyes, impatient with John’s impatience. “This isn’t some accelerated program, John. You won’t suddenly have the ability to move mountains or fight epic battles or draw others to you like moths to a candle flame. It takes years to hone your craft. You will not become a fully-formed witch overnight.”

“When you say years, you mean––”

“Decades. Longer.”

“But I can at least learn the essentials, right? How long’ll that take?”

Falling silent, Sherlock just stared at the wall. Then he shook his head. “Never mind. There’s no point in teaching you a thing. You’re a child.”

“Oh, c’mon! Sher––Sherlock! I just… I’m sorry. I want to learn.”

Sherlock stopped in the doorway.

“You must have been the same way, right? Wishing you knew everything already? Wanting all of it now? It doesn’t mean I won’t work hard. I’m sorry. I want you to teach me everything.”

When he finally faced John again, Sherlock hated that he could see himself in the boy standing before him, just like he had the night before when he’d read John’s thoughts, so desperate to learn. He lifted his chin and moved slowly back to the table.

“Lesson the first,” he murmured in his rich, low voice, “Energy flow within and without the body. In meditation, you will focus on the way your energy moves inside you and, eventually, start to recognize that of your magick.”

“And with you?” John asked, the excitement evident in his voice.

Sherlock picked up a pencil from between two books and placed it on the table in front of John. “Move this pencil.”

John’s frown returned the smile to Sherlock’s face. “Thrilling, isn’t it,” he said, and his new apprentice sighed.

 

 

“Loki?”

He glanced up from his book and took off his reading glasses when he saw Jane standing in his doorway. She looked around his bedroom, trying not to let her emotions show on her face, but even from where he was sitting, propped up against the headboard of his bed, he could still tell what she was thinking without having to read her.

“The next place we go you won’t need to sleep on a couch,” he said.

“It’s not that.” She stepped past the threshold cautiously, Sherlock’s death glare on her mind. She knew she wasn’t supposed to be in here, but she couldn’t help it. “It’s just… he spent a long time on this room. Making it perfect for you. Down to every last detail.” Her fingertips grazed the globe in the corner as she glanced up at the top of his green, canopy bed.

“I suppose he did,” he said noncommittally.

“I just don’t get what happened between the two of you.”

Loki leaned forward to watch her more closely. “Sherlock mentioned the incident with the mind reading from a few weeks ago. I don’t know which of you he wanted to punish more over that.”

“I know I shouldn’t have.” Jane looked down at her hands, noticing that she’d bitten her fingernails all down to nubs and wondering if she’d ever learn to let them grow out. She looked back up at Loki, her gaze steady. “But it doesn’t make sense. I don’t understand why you two… aren’t anymore.”

“Is it important?”

Jane rolled her eyes. “You know it is. Loki, you and I have talked about things, about us, and I don’t want to get involved in that if this situation between you two is more complicated than you make it out to be.” She sighed. “But I guess I’m already involved, aren’t I?”

“You can leave any time you see fit.”

“Don’t pull that Zen master crap with me. I’m your apprentice. I go where you go.”

“Until you’re ready to leave me, yes. But if that time comes sooner than I’d hoped, I’m not going to demand that you stay.”

Jane stared at him, her searching hazel eyes wanting to read something her futuresight was blind to. Finally, she moved across the room and pulled herself up onto the bed. She tucked her legs underneath her while her hands moved to grip her own knees. He looked her over, and his skin grew warmer.

“Do you even want me?” she said.

Her voice was unlike any way he’d ever heard it, girlish but firm. He leaned forward and gripped the back of her neck.

“Of course I do, love.”

Jane dropped her head, but he didn’t pull away. When she spoke again, she sounded much more cautious and cynical, like that heartbroken girl he’d happened across that night in the diner.

“You probably call them all that, right? I’m sure you even called Sherlock your love back in the day.”

“No,” Loki said. He stroked her hair with his thumb and continued to cup the nape of her neck. “Do not doubt my wanting you, Jane. I do. My past is separate from the feelings I have for you.”

She paused for a moment, then leaned forward until her cheek brushed his, her eyelashes sweeping down over his skin.

“I don’t believe that for a second,” she said, and he didn’t even have time to feel guilty because she leaned in and kissed him. She wasn’t timid, although she did take her time in figuring out the right angles, the right pressure. Her shoulder rolled forward as she slid her hand under one of the pillows he was lounging against. When he slipped his tongue into her mouth, he felt her sigh, and his body responded more quickly than he’d thought possible, at his age anyway.

She pulled away suddenly, and he touched her cheek.

“Jane.”

“We can’t do it in his house, right? He’d absolutely kill us.”

Loki laughed softly and drew her closer with his open palm. “Why don’t you read to me? My eyes are so bad, I barely know what I’m looking at half the time.”

Jane shook her head. “I better have more to look forward to than that. I’m more powerful than you. Maybe I can fix the whole eyesight thing.”

“You’re one of the most powerful apprentices I’ve ever taken.”

His answer made both of them feel uneasy, but Jane took the book anyway and stretched out beside Loki. She read to him in a soft voice until they were both able to forget the heat of their kiss and their desire for one another, at least for a little while.

 

 

John had spent a week on the pencil and was becoming frustrated. Sherlock asked him several times if he had been practicing his meditations as well, even though he already knew the answer. John really had put all the determination into his training that Sherlock had seen in his vision. Still, he wasn’t sure which task John would accomplish first: moving the pencil or feeling his magick.

A loud groan brought Sherlock back to their current situation, and he stood. He had been thinking on the other side of the room, perched on a stool, but now it was time to move on.

“Enough for today.”

“What? No. I can… I can get this!”

“Not today, you can’t. It’s nearly dinnertime. Let’s go.”

“Can’t one of them cook for once? It’s not like they’re doing anything else around here.”

Sherlock saw the embarrassment creep into John’s expression, anticipated him trying to take back his words in a fumbling attempt to hide how much Loki and Jane bothered him. But Sherlock just laughed which stopped John right in his tracks again.

“Come now,” he said in a voice which was somewhat kinder than the one he’d been using before.

“They bother you too, don’t they? How they’re just hanging around, not planning on leaving any time soon from what I can tell?”

“It’s not your concern.”

“It is, though. I mean, I live here. They’re just the guests.” John paused. “Right?”

Sherlock swallowed and prepared himself to explain that which he felt should be understood. “There is no reason why their status in this household compared to yours should be such a matter of importance to you. It is my home essentially. Therefore, I will dictate any changes in residence.”

“Yeah, fine, but you’ve got to admit they don’t really have a reason to be here anymore. You finished Jane’s training, and Loki just loafs around. You don’t need to learn anything from him, he’s not your teacher anymore, and you definitely don’t hide the fact that you’re angry with him for… reasons.” John was clearly running out of steam, but somehow, he cleared his throat and continued. “I mean, he just drinks all the tea and makes annoying comments. He keeps calling you _dragón_ which obviously annoys you.”

At this, Sherlock became very silent and very stiff. He continued to stare at John but, this time, the young apprentice did not avert his eyes.

“Doesn’t it?” he asked softly.

“Should it?”

“I don’t know. I don’t know why he calls you that.”

“It’s an old joke.”

“Maybe not one you find very funny.”

In that moment, Sherlock wondered if he was already teaching John more than he’d realized. “You’re making your own deductions now, I see.”  

“I dunno. It just seems to bother you.”

“It doesn’t.”

John sighed and stepped away from the table and the pencil that was slowly starting to navigate its way into his dreams. Sherlock checked liked to check them on occasion, making sure that his apprentice really was working diligently and moving in the right direction. He approved of that which he saw, though he did recognize his own face appearing in the boy’s dreams more often than he would like to.

When John got the door, he grabbed the frame and turned back to look at Sherlock.

“You don’t owe him anything, you know. And you can always talk to me.”

“Noted.”

John sighed and walked out into the hall. And alone in his lab, Sherlock left the bottles and magickal bric-a-brac behind and reminisced.

 

 

_“Your friends don’t like me.”_

_“Well. You’re a bit difficult to take at first.”_

_They were sitting outside a coffee shop in Paris, Sherlock’s_ café noisette _remaining untouched as Loki sipped his_ café au lait _. They both wore sunglasses and large cloaks, although surprisingly this didn’t cause the locals who passed to give them any great deal of attention._

_“Am I.”_

_“You know who and what you are, Sherlock. And what does it matter what they think? You aren’t traveling with any of them, or sleeping with any of them.”_

_“Your aversion to honesty is always refreshing, Loki.”_

_Laughing, Loki turned his pale face toward the sun, and Sherlock watched him in silence. He’d never felt free to laugh the way Loki did, especially when the joke was on him. In the silence that followed, Sherlock touched his index finger to his slightly cooling cup to give it warmth again._

_“It bothers them that you’re so powerful,” Loki said. “Jealousies. But, if you must know, yes. They find you a bit… prickly.”_

_“That must be a kind euphemism for how they truly find me.”_

_Loki sighed and glanced over his cup. “They have a nickname for you.”_

_“What is it.”_

_“I’m sure you know.”_

_“I do not.”_

_“_ El dragón de fuego _.”_

_Sherlock paused. “And did I burn them, then?” Finally, he lifted his cup to sip the espresso. It was strong, sweetened from the sugar cubes their waiter had placed on the table, and he liked the way the cream curled around his tongue._

_“I suppose you did, yes.”_

Do you care? _Sherlock wanted to ask but kept silent._

_“There’ll be other gatherings. Conventions, meetings. You’ll see them again.”_

_“And they will like me even less.”_

_Shaking his head, Loki leaned back to gaze up at the sky again, the length of his neck enticing Sherlock, even though he had well traveled it by this point._

_“I’ve never mind the fire,_ dragón _,” Loki murmured. “In fact, it’s one of the qualities which I love most about you.”_

The memory fading and melding with those of the following night (and all nights after) where Loki spoke to him gently yet unceasingly while they made love, Sherlock closed his eyes. There was pain in the name, in the memory, but not the kind John had assumed it to be. Still, it was enough to distract him from realizing that John was standing on the other side of the door, reading his thoughts with caution.

 

 

That night, O made the rounds inside his his tank while John sat and meditated. He had moved far away from the octopus, the bed beneath him, and even from the beautiful, living landscape which tonight featured a breathtaking mountain range bathed in pre-sunrise mist. He did not travel out of the shop but rather inward, as deep as he could possibly go. And he saw it.

It was blue and locked up rather tight, but he was able to draw it out carefully until it was truly his. He marveled at its feel, the many shapes it took, and then concentrated hard until it manifested upon his open palm. By this point, hours had passed, but he hardly noticed.

Scrambling to his feet as fast as he could, John ran down the hall to Sherlock’s bedroom and banged on his door.

“What?”

“Sherlock, it’s me!”

“I said,  _what_?!”

“It’s done, I did it! I mean, I could see it! I saw… It’s right there!”

A few seconds passed, and Sherlock opened the door to his bedroom. John was too excited to look beyond him into the room Sherlock kept so private. Instead, he concentrated, terrified that he wouldn’t be able to do it twice.

“Go on, then,” Sherlock murmured, his voice encouraging where it could have seemed impatient.

With determination, John was able to coax his magick to the surface again. Sherlock watched its bright blue color flicker and swirl up from inside John as they stood huddled together over his hand. John grinned wide, his eyes on his master.

“It’s amazing!” said John, clearly experiencing one of the greatest moments of his young life. “I can feel it and everything!”

Sherlock could feel it too, and he had to suppress a shudder at how inviting it was. This didn’t surprise him, but it did frighten him. “Yes. So can I.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “I can feel the draw.  
> I can feel it pulling me back.  
> It’s pulling me back.  
> It’s pulling me––  
> I can feel the draw.  
> I can feel it pulling me back.  
> It’s pulling me back.  
> It’s pulling me back.”  
> -“The Draw” by Bastille


	9. In Which Magick is in the Air (Literally)

Since learning the basics of using magick, John was really feelin’ himself, confidence wise. However, this didn’t always translate into a good thing. For example, he had started to read the minds of all the customers who came into the shop and would grin when he saw something funny there. He’d also tried a few times to improve on some of Sherlock’s spells, a source of delight to Jane and Loki which instantly produced murderous glances from his teacher. Additionally, he’d broken a handful of teacups and almost shattered the pot itself attempting to use magick instead of motor skills to pour himself a cuppa. And, one day, he’d absolutely fucked up royally…

_“Loki!” John barked. “Get in here. Immediately.”_

_After a moment, Loki peeked into the lab where he saw Sherlock, eyes wide and mumbling apologies, to a furious-looking John._

_“Fix this!” John told him._

_“What…” It only took Loki a few moments to realize what had happened, and the instant he did, he almost collapsed to the floor laughing._

_“Don’t break a hip, old man,” John said._

_“I’m sorry, Sherlock, I’m sorry!” Sherlock seemed to have found his voice, although it was much more desperate than Loki had heard it in, well, centuries._

_“JANE!”_

_“No!” John cried._

_“JAAAANE!” It was all he could manage until he fell into hysterics again._

_When Jane entered the room, it only took her a little longer than Loki to put two and two together._

_“Oh my god!”_

_John rolled his eyes in a way that involved his entire body. “Yes, it’s_ hilarious _! Now, one of you fix this.”_

_Jane shook her head, trying to suppress another onslaught of giggles. “You’re switched! You’re him and he’s––Oh my god, this is insane!”_

_“I_ said _I was sorry,” mumbled Sherlock._

_John, who was really Sherlock, threw his hands in the air. “Oh, yes! He’s sorry! One can only hope that next time you decide to tinker with things you have no understanding of, you’ll create some sort of poisonous gas and choke on it!”_

_Sherlock, who was really John, puffed up, seeming to be focusing on making himself taller and more menacing which wasn’t really necessary. “Hey, lay off, all right? Maybe if you could spend a little more time_ teaching  _me and a little less time_ ridiculing  _me, I could learn faster!”_

_“Or maybe you’ll kill us all! There’s a thought!” John turned to Loki again. “I finally found the master genius who’s going to do you in. Say your goodbyes.”_

_Loki shook his head, his consistently wicked smile still spread across his face. “Oh, God. I do feel somewhat inclined to just leave you that way.”_

_“Why can’t you do anything to fix it, hm?” Sherlock asked. “I mean, you’re always saying you’re more powerful than him._ Constantly _saying it, if I might add. Or is this something you just can’t pull off?”_

_John turned toward him, his gaze a slow burn. “I merely cannot reverse the spell because your meager magick has not been cultivated to a point where I can use it. Is that something you can believe? Or did you forget what an idiot you truly are?”_

_Sherlock glared and said nothing. Finally regaining his composure, Loki glanced at Jane and half-smiled._

_“I’m starting to think if we leave them like that, this place really will become a murder scene.”_

_Jane grinned back. “Well, then, let’s get to work.”_

No, Sherlock hadn’t yet forgiven him for that one. But it hadn’t been all bad. While John sat, trapped in his mentor’s body and waiting for Jane and Loki to put him back into his own, he was able to feel Sherlock’s magick coursing through him, as natural as a heartbeat. It was amazing, and it made John so excited for the day when he would be able to feel his own magick just as strongly and just as easily. He also enjoyed it for another reason but… that made him feel strange.

A few nights later, he finally worked up the courage to visit Jane. Even though she looked as if she was deep into her meditation, when he poked his head around her door, she opened her eyes immediately.

“Hey, John. What’s up?”

“Um… I just had kind of a… weird… uh.”

Jane smiled. “Yeah?”

“Okay, so…” He took a deep breath to steady himself and stepped into her room. “Can… Can magick be sexy?”

“Do you mean is it gonna get you girls? ‘Cause I think you know the answer to that.”

“No, I just meant… Sometimes, you can feel someone else’s magick, and it feels good, right? Like they’re touching you and. Um.” He shook his head. “Forget it.”

“John.” She stood up and did an unconscious shoulder stretch. “It’s totally normal. Magick can definitely make someone feel really good. There are all kinds of spells you can use to enhance sex.”

“There are?”

“Sure. I’m kinda surprised you haven’t looked any of them up to be honest.”

“Me too,” murmured John.

Jane stifled a laugh. “But, uh, it does make a difference if you have real feelings for the person. So… Can I ask whose magick it was?”

At this, John’s whole face turned ashen, and he managed to stutter about fifty times more than he had after first coming into her room. “Uh, um, ju––No, I mean… A––Customer. Yeah, just a… Person who… came into the shop. No––No one exciting. Just… Yeah. I’m gonna go.”

She nodded, relinquishing the chance to pry any more, and watched him leave. It definitely wasn’t a customer, and Jane knew there was no way he’d be asking her about the whole thing if it was actually her magick that had made him feel things. And since he didn’t do much to hide his mild contempt for Loki, it didn’t take a girl who was still prepared to get her doctorate in astrophysics after she finished bumming around the world with an ancient witch to figure out the truth.

Jane knew John liked Sherlock. She just wondered if Sherlock knew. Even though she was often convinced that Sherlock knew everything, there was a part of him that seemed truly susceptible to blind spots. And she wondered as well if Sherlock liked John back. In some ways, the whole thing was a little soap opera-y, but Jane had watched her share of  _Passions_  in middle school. She wasn’t above the drama. Although it did make her consider her own entanglements and where exactly they were going anyway.

 

 

The next morning, after keeping himself awake all night with confusing questions and even more confusing dreams, John slunk into the parlor to see if he could get to the dregs of last night’s peppermint-gasm tea. Instead, he found Sherlock sitting alone, a freshly brewed pot beside him.

“‘Morning…” John said warily.

“Mm.”

Sherlock was nose-deep in a book, but John assumed he would have greeted him that way regardless. He poured himself a cup of tea without asking but also without trying to use magick. After sitting down across from Sherlock in the chair he always thought of as his, John studied his teacher.

“You’re really not  _still_  mad at me about––Yep. Okay.”

The death glare he received stopped him in his tracks. He took a sip of the tea for courage, shivered, and tried to force the words out again.

“Look, it was an accident. And I said I was sorry. I’ll try to be better, I will.”

“You’re impatient and childish.”

“But I’m not a child.”

“Practically.”

“ _Not_  practically! I’m almost eighteen.”

Sherlock shook his head as a little snort escaped him.

“I guess that doesn’t mean a lot to you, but I can do plenty of adult things. And I’m here, and I’m working for you and learning from you. I’m… doing well. Except for the bit with the body switching. But I’m sure you did plenty of silly things when you were a new witch.”

Sherlock looked to the ceiling and laughed merrily. “Oh, yes, of course! I recall when I was a lad that I once unleashed a fear demon which murdered an entire village. Ah, fffun.” He glared at John again over his book and then raised it back up to hide his face.

John sighed. “Fine, yeah. But I’m gonna start doing better. And it really is a big deal that I’m almost eighteen. My birthday’s almost a week from now.”

“I’ll be sure to find a card that shares my most profound sentiments. Something that screams ‘Congratulations, now leave me alone.’”

John smiled slightly and raised his cup to his lips. “How come you’re not in your bedroom? You’re usually always in there in the mornings.”

Sherlock touched the corner of his book in a way that seemed thoughtful. The touch was gentle, unconscious, and fascinating. There was so much more behind it than John felt he could begin to understand.

It was then that John realized he hung on every word, every action, every movement of his teacher. The realization made the gravitational tug he always felt when Sherlock was near seem rational. It also made it much harder for him to pretend that he didn’t know why Sherlock’s magick had made him feel the way it did: warm and tingly and erotic. The moment almost knocked the wind out of him.

Then, Sherlock looked up, his expression once again revealing nothing.

“No reason,” Sherlock murmured. “I just felt like spending a quiet matutinal hour with a book. Of course, now that you’re here, I suppose I’ll need to alter those plans.”

After saying a mental prayer that his words would come out casual, John managed a small laugh and whispered, “Sure. I live to annoy you.”

They both returned to their comfortable silence, and John thought back over his own words. He worried that they were much less sarcastic than he meant them to be, that he would live for Sherlock gladly, if only he were to ask.

 

“I wish you would tell me  
How you really feel.  
But you’ll never tell me  
‘Cause that’s not our deal.”

 

 

But there was a reason Sherlock didn’t want to be in his room. He saw it coming like a freight train, screaming down the tracks to which he was tied, like a damsel in distress in an old melodrama. And he’d finally and unfortunately realized much to late that it wasn’t Loki or even Jane wearing the black hat and the Snidely Whiplash mustache in this scenario, oh no. Somehow, he’d put himself there, he guessed, and had played both parts.

The morning had barely begun (though who could really tell in the vacuum of space?), and Loki lay in bed reading. He was surprised by Jane who had managed to sneak into his bedroom and skulk by the door for a few moments before he noticed her.

“There aren’t that many people who can sneak up on me,” he murmured. You’re learning more every day, love.”

“Yeah. About that. I think I’m ready.”

His eyebrows raised only slightly. “For what? Healing spells? Those can be rather tricky. Or are you more interested in something else? I’ve never really enjoyed potions, but I can show you some advanced recipes.”

“No.” She took a deep breath and focused on him solely. He felt the shift in the air around him as she did so. “For you.”

This time, the eyebrow raise was real. “Oh.”

Jane walked toward his bed and grabbed ahold of the post closest to her. “Sound good?”

Loki quickly checked for Sherlock’s thoughts and found only static. He wanted to be relieved, that Sherlock was finally trying to move past everything and ignore, if not actively condemn, Loki’s happiness. But instead, he felt it as a little dig beneath his skin, surprised that Sherlock didn’t care, perhaps even hurt.

It made him hate himself for a moment. The beautiful girl standing in front of him was all he had wanted for months now, and he was going to worry about whether or not  _Sherlock_  still wanted him? They had literally ended things ages ago.

“Loki.” Jane still seemed focused, serious, but her courage was slipping. He could feel it. Well, he wasn’t going to let it go to waste.

“Jane.” He reached forward to touch her cheek, to brush his thumb over her soft skin and anticipate the moment right before everything changed. Sometimes, it was the best moment, the one he looked back on most fondly.

“I’m yours.”

Jane shivered a bit at his words and leaned in to kiss his lips. She pulled herself up onto the bed with ease and, just as quickly, she was in his lap, their kiss soldering them together like two unfinished metals. Jane yanked him closer, pressed against him harder, and Loki obliged all of her tacit requests.

“Ah!” She began to ride his hips, her own moving in a hard rhythm that started slow and then increased in ferocity. It undid him. When he couldn’t take it anymore, he broke their kiss and pressed her back onto the bed, her head by his footboard, and pinned her arms above her.

“So that’s your kink,” she teased. “Total control?”

“Not at all,” he said with a devious smile. “I just want to show you what I can do.”

She laughed. “Careful, baby, this isn’t my first time.”

“I doubt you could handle me otherwise.”

“Oh-ho!” Jane shook her head. “You better be really fucking good ‘cause all I’m hearing is talking, talking, talking.”

When he looked up at her, his eyes flashed green for only a moment. “Oh, love, that isn’t the only thing I can do with my tongue.”

With that, he released her hands and moved down to slide off her pajama bottoms. In an attempt to stay calm, Jane licked her lips and closed her eyes.

_Okay, you’ve always known the man liked to brag. But you’ve never seen him this cocky. Better live up to it, baby._

She felt him laugh softly before his hand gently parted her legs, and she began to feel his mouth on her.

“Oh!”

The pressure of his tongue was wonderful, sending hard, unimaginable shivers through her entire body. She felt like he was savoring her, worshipping her, and her hips and stomach begin to shake. But once he started to move, really move, she lost control and wrapped her legs around his shoulders. Her hands flew into his hair, and she cried out louder than she ever remembered doing in her life.

“Oh, Loki… FUCK!”

He was moving faster now, his left hand slipping under her shirt to cup her breast. Her whole body was shaking, clutching, and she barely knew what to do with herself. No person should be able to…

It was when he began to move his tongue so fast she could barely feel it that she came, tipping over into the night sky and falling through the stars she so loved. Every time she came, she always saw the stars behind her eyes, but this… This was a supernova.

“Oh… God. Ah.”

Her body was still shaking as he untangled himself from her. Jane yanked him down into a kiss so fierce, she thought she probably bruised both their lips.

“Jesus Christ, that was amazing.” When he grinned, she rolled her eyes. “Oh, come on, you know it was.  _God_.”

“You’ve got beautiful eyes,” he murmured, his fingers brushing her shoulder.

“Are they red like my magick?”

“Yes.”

Jane grinned back, feeling so good but wanting more. She didn’t know how it was possible, but she figured the pressure of his erection against her thigh had something to do with it.

“Wanna see if that birth control charm you told me about works?”

Loki laughed breathlessly. “It always has before.”

“Good.” Jane pulled him into another hard kiss, and they shed their clothes as fast as they could. Their laughter and moans could be heard all through the house.

When Loki entered her, he moaned and felt her body curl around him.

“Ah… Love.”

“Yeah. Ah.. my god!”

They began to move together with much more harmony than the first time usually allows. Jane could feel her magick humming inside her. Every little kiss, touch, and thrust only caused her to climb higher. As she approached another climax, her body rose from the bed, taking him with her.

“J…ane…!”

“Ah!”

Their crescendo came at a shared moment, his mouth full of stifled, passionate words, and her arms wrapped tightly, unabashedly around him. As they came down, so did their bodies until they were once again resting on the bed.

“Jane…” he whispered, both astounded and humbled by her.

“Your eyes,” she said softly and turned his face with her hands. They were bright green like they had been before he’d gone down on her, only now the color lasted with the remains of his afterglow. She smiled, her own eyes barely open now.

“So you’re mine, huh?” she asked.

“I am.”

And in that moment, though Loki still remained the world’s oldest resident, the past meant nothing to him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “Just when I think I can’t take anymore  
> We go deeper and harder than ever before.  
> We go higher and higher;  
> I feel like I’m already there.  
> I’m walking on air.”  
> -“Walking on Air” by Katy Perry
> 
> (And “Our Deal” by Best Coast for John and Sherlock)


	10. In Which People Can Still Surprise You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “Where there’s a will,  
> There’s a way,  
> Kinda beautiful.  
> And every night  
> Has its day,  
> So magical.  
> And if there is love  
> In this life,  
> There’s no obstacle  
> That can’t be  
> Defeated.”

It wasn’t even discussed. At least not in the way John had expected with yelling and great poofs of purple magick flying around. He had thought Sherlock made his feelings very clear about Jane and Loki and what they could and could not do while under his roof. And, honestly, whatever respect they might have had for that seemed to have vaporized in an instant, at least from where John was standing.

He and Sherlock had heard them all the way in the parlor, and it had been just as uncomfortable as anyone could have expected. After it was over (because they could pretty much tell when it was over), Sherlock got up and walked out of the room. John saw him turn right down the hallway instead of the left that would have taken him to his bedroom. But since that room shared a wall with the scene of the sexy crime, John couldn’t exactly blame him.

He waited for Sherlock to absolutely lose it, in the way that he would have done if John had accidentally spilled some of his conjuring powder or done something else equally boneheaded. But he never heard the argument he’d been expecting. When they sat down for dinner, he assumed surely it was time for everything to come out, but it didn’t. And after they were finished, when Sherlock and Loki retired to the parlor like they did most nights, he was nearly ready to start the fight himself.

How was it that Sherlock hadn’t completely vilified Loki at this point when he was perfectly capable of doing so to others over, well… nothing?! Why was he pretending like he didn’t care about any of this when he obviously did?!

John wandered into the shop, feeling agitated and confused, and noticed Jane standing there with Morgana on her shoulder. She smiled and fed her a bit of something from her hand (John figured it was most likely a few kernels of corn from the dinner he’d prepared with absolutely no thanks, as usual).

“Hey, John,” she said.

“Hey. Um. What––What happened this morning?”

Jane turned to look at him, and her already large eyes widened. “Please tell me I don’t have to spell it out for you.”

John let out an extremely fake-sounding laugh. “Haha! No. I… I wanted to know why you and Loki thought it would be a good idea to do that. Here. Why you didn’t wait.”

“I guess we were tired of waiting.”

“Yeah, but you know Sherlock’s pissed. I mean, this is his house, and he’s letting you stay here, and Loki’s his… ex and… I just don’t know why you couldn’t have waited.”

“He doesn’t seem pissed,” she said. “Sherlock.” There wasn’t really a reason for her to clarify, but Morgana ruffled her feathers pleasantly at the mention of her master’s name. Jane smiled and cooed a soft “Yeah” to the bird.

“But you know he is! I mean, c’mon, Jane. He’s never had a problem telling Loki when he’s being an absolute knob. And he used to  _hate_ you!”

Jane looked at him again, only this time her glance was much more severe. “Why do you care, John? Does it bother you all that much that everyone is getting along better around here? Or do you think it’s something else?” She raised her arm to touch the cage hanging above her and let Morgana climb her way up until she was back at her regular perch. Then, she returned her attention to John.

“Do you think it might be that you feel left out, even now when Sherlock is teaching you everything you wanted so desperately to know? Do you want to be the only one who’s close to him? Or do you think that the real problem is you’re the only one he refuses to let in?”

John stood frozen for a few seconds, readjusting his posture and tightening his mouth around any angry words he might’ve wanted to say. Finally, he sniffed a bit, nodded, and walked out of the room, his eyes on the hall until he arrived in his bedroom and slammed the door behind him.

The worst of it was, he pretty much knew all of it was true. But he truly was not sure what bothered him more: that he felt like he still didn’t belong among this unlikely coven of extraordinary witches or that he knew Sherlock would have ended him for any trespass far less severe than the one he now seemed perfectly willing to let go of on Jane and Loki’s part.

He lay on his mattress and stared at the living mural, this time a field of poppies in the mid-afternoon sun. He knew his feelings for Sherlock were more than anything he’d tried to pretend they were for too long. Even now, he could close his eyes and conjure the dream he’d had about his teacher last night: Sherlock was making him cry out, writhe, shiver, and come without even touching him. Just the way his eyes looked and the way his hands moved would have been enough, but still, John could feel Sherlock’s magick raking over his body and he was nearly finished before he began. And after he’d woken and found Sherlock in the parlor, he’d tried to pretend like it was nothing, but when he realized he was still constantly drawn to his master’s subtlest movements, he knew there was no way to fight it anymore.

It wasn’t that John had never been attracted to men before. But he’d never been so desperately attracted to any one man before Sherlock. And now that he couldn’t hide it from himself anymore, he was embarrassed to realize he probably hadn’t done a very thorough job of hiding it from anyone else.

 

 

“Loki.”

“Mm?”

“I think John might like Sherlock.” She paused. “Okay, I  _know_  John likes Sherlock.”

“Hm.”

“Wake up!” She pushed him a little, and one blue eye opened in response.

“And…?” came the sleepy reply.

“And… I don’t know! I feel sort of bad for him. He kind of pissed me off today, but I’ve been thinking about it, and I’m over it.” She didn’t say that, when they had been in the midst of their conversation, she’d felt the sort of temper in herself that she usually liked to avoid but had noticed was becoming more and more a part of her since honing and crafting her magick. Maybe that was the consequence of real power, but Jane didn’t want to be that kind of witch, that kind of person. In a way, she wanted to make it up to him that she’d used his own thoughts to hurt him.

But she didn’t say that. Instead, she said, “Maybe you should talk to Sherlock.”

“And tell him  _what_? ‘By the way, I think your apprentice is in love with you, and you should do something about that?’ What would he do?”

“Don’t you think he might have feelings for him too?”

Loki sighed. “I don’t know, love. You seem to be the one paying attention to these sorts of things.” His eyes stayed closed, and she swore she heard more than mild, drowsy annoyance in his tone.

Jane sat up on her elbow, and her eyes narrowed. “What is this? Because I swear to God, I didn’t have sex with you so that less than twenty-four hours later, you could treat me like I’m an idiot and roll over right after we do it.”

“I’m sorry.” This time, he sounded earnest when he spoke. He gathered her in his arms and pressed close. She liked the way his body felt against hers, but it still wasn’t enough to smooth the angry crease in her forehead.

“I just didn’t know what you wanted me to say to him. We don’t really discuss things of that nature.”

“You mean you don’t ever talk about me?”

He sighed and ran his hand down her back, his voice like satin ribbons tying her to him.

“Not as much as I’d like.”

“Don’t try to charm me, okay, baby? Because if you can’t keep your silver tongue out of this for fifteen minutes, I can go back to sleeping on Sherlock’s couch.”

“Fine.” Now, he was awake and serious and truly looking at her. Those moments where he did made her feel so full, she could hardly pretend that it wasn’t affecting every fibre of her being. But she gave it a shot.

“I just thought he might have feelings for John too. And that you two are doing better… And we’re together… And that, maybe, you might want him to be happy too.”

“Of course I do,” he said, his voice full of gravel. “Of course I do.”

“Then… Maybe you could say something to him. Or at least try to pick his brain and see if he might have feelings for John too. I don’t know, I just think there’s something there with both of them, and I’d be sad to see nothing come out of it.”

“Right. Well, as you know, picking Sherlock’s brain literally or figuratively without him realizing what you’re doing is extremely simple, and I’m very much looking forward to it.”

Jane laughed, unable to help herself. Loki gave a half-smile in response that eventually spread to the rest of his mouth.

“Look,” she murmured, “I know it hasn’t exactly been fifteen minutes, but I think I’m ready for your silver tongue to make another appearance.”

“Oh, are you?” Now that grin became wicked and full, and God help her, it was her favorite of all his smiles. “Let’s see what can be done about that.”

And she laughed, wrapping her arms around his neck.

 

 

The next evening in the parlor, Loki reached into his cloak and took out a pipe. He tapped it on his saucer and began to fill it silently with whatever combination of tobacco and herbs he’d brought with him. Sherlock raised his eyes immediately when this began.

“You’re smoking. And you clearly have something important to say that you do not wish to say. But you’re going to say it anyway, I can only assume why…”

Loki nodded, still filling the pipe and not looking up. “I know you must have been… upset, to say the least, when it happened here. I’m sorry. We could have gone somewhere else.”

“But you didn’t.”

“But we didn’t.”

Loki lit the pipe with his fingers and took a few, short puffs. Sherlock’s body stiffened as he absently remembered Loki teaching him, among the myriad things he’d learned from the older witch, how to smoke.  _That’s it. When you breathe it in, try and hold it in your lungs for a minute. Just suck, you’re good at that._ He shifted in his chair, disgusted with himself for a brief moment.

Loki locked gazes with him, and if he had been reading Sherlock’s mind, he didn’t comment. “I didn’t do it on purpose, I want you to know. But I think you already see what I see. That we’re not trapped like this. That things can change.”

Sherlock gritted his teeth. The memory of a birthday celebration that somehow seemed so long ago was swirling around in his mind. He shut the door on it as hard as he could.

“Clearly.  _Things_  can.”

Loki smiled. “I know you’re not as angry as you want to be. I’ve seen you lately, distracted by other things, other people.”

The response he wanted to give and would have given in the past (in essence,  _What the hell is that supposed to mean, you eternal prick?_ ) died on his lips and he could only murmur, “Oh?”

“Your apprentice. He affects you, his magick affects you. You have feelings for him. I can see it in the way you interact with him and the ways you choose not to interact. You fight with him, well… Not the way you fight with me, but close. He means something to you. And Jane saw it that day when you were training her and cast us out. You think he’s the man from the vision you had all those years ago, the one where someone was holding you and it wasn’t…”  _Wasn’t me_ , he thought.  

Sherlock stared at Loki. “Do I.”

“You do.”

“And you tell me this because you still know me so well? Because you want me to be like you are. _Happy_.”

“I am happy.” Loki was serious, and his voice dropped lower to emphasize his words. “The way things have been, I thought we were stuck this way too. But we’re not. Both of us can be happy, both of us can move on.”

Sherlock stood. “Thank you for the advice.”

“Sherlock––”

“Loki.” His throat tightened, but he forced himself onward. “I no longer care whom you fuck and where you do it. One can only hope social mores dictate that you do not take her on my bed, but otherwise, I do not concern myself with it.” He paused.

“As for John… He isn’t the man from the vision. The gift of precognition can cause false sights of the future, as things  _do_  change and outcomes vary. It probably will never happen at all, and he certainly isn’t the one. He’s merely a boy I’ve deigned to help, to teach and then send away from me once all of this is finished, and I do not wish to discuss it further. So I’m pleased that things can change, and we no longer must feel tied to one another, regardless of what has been said. But that means you ought to learn to let me live in peace.”

With that, Sherlock turned and walked out of the parlor. But the minute he did, he saw John, standing much smaller than usual, near enough to have heard anything he’d liked.

“Is that true?” he murmured. His throat sounded dry, but his dignity remained intact as he spoke,  making him seem older than he ever had to Sherlock. “I don’t mean anything to you, huh?”

He nodded absently, as Sherlock remained speechless.

“Well. I don’t believe that. I don’t believe that for a second.”

John turned and walked away, this time leaving Sherlock alone in the hall.

_You were right_ , Sherlock thought.  _Things_ do _change._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “Monday left me broken.  
> Tuesday I was through with hopin’.  
> Wednesday my empty arms were open.  
> Thursday waiting for love, waiting for love.  
> Thank the stars, it’s Friday.  
> I’m burning like a fire, gone wild on Saturday.  
> Guess I won’t be goin’ to church on Sunday.  
> I’ll be waiting for love, waiting for love  
> To come around.”
> 
> -“Waiting for Love” by Avicii


	11. In Which Two Birthdays are Observed and Two Parties End Early

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “They say it’s your birthday.  
> It’s my birthday too, yeah.  
> They say it’s your birthday.  
> We’re gonna have a good time.  
> I’m glad it’s your birthday.  
> Happy birthday to you.”  
> -“Birthday” by The Beatles

“So…” Jane said after she’d been lingering in John’s doorway for about ten seconds without him noticing. “Do you like chocolate cake or vanilla?”

John blinked and shook his head a little. “For what?”

“Your birthday. S’tomorrow, right?” He gave a small nod. She sidled into the room and looked around. “Not a lot of decoration in here. But I guess you don’t need it with that big… window thing. Pretty cool.”

“Thanks.”

She moved to sit down on the bed with him and brought her legs up to her chest. John looked her over and admired how she had redefined the wearing of flannel, a new button-up every day and an endless collection of skinny jeans. He smiled, never thinking that he and Jane would have been able to get along so well, even when he’d had a bit of a crush on her. She smiled back, and he guessed she probably felt the same way about the whole turn of events.

“Are you okay?” she finally asked.

“Yeah, yeah.” John gave a nod to the side, feeling like he should acknowledge her kindness by opening up, but he just wasn’t that type of guy. Besides, he knew Jane and Loki were already aware of the situation anyway. He wanted to be with Sherlock, and he was done hiding it. The thing that had happened in the hall, where he’d overheard Sherlock talking about how John didn’t mean anything to him, was what pushed him over the edge.  _I know we could be great together_ , John thought. _And he knows it too; he’s just scared._

John was done being scared. But he still hadn’t talked about it with anyone until now.

“It’s fine, you know. I’ll be fine.”

“I know he likes you.”

John snorted and gave another slow nod. “Yeah. So do I. But he’s not going to do anything about it. He’d… rather just keep pretending, I guess.”

Jane smiled. “I like you like this.” When John turned to stare at her, she shook her head. “No, I mean… You’re honest, and you don’t give a fuck. You’re fed up.”

“It’s not that,” John murmured. “I just know what I want. Why hide it, or fight it, anymore?”

Jane nodded in approval and disappeared into thought for a moment. Then she put her hand on his knee. “Look, I know you’re not feeling like it, but I think you should have a party. It’s an important one right?”

“Eighteen.”

“So, very important. And you can enjoy yourself and, who knows, maybe it’ll get you guys talking again. If nothing else, it’ll make things a lot easier on me and Loki.”

“That’s… EXACTLY what I care about right now.”

Jane laughed. “Really, though! At night, your, um, dreams and thoughts and stuff are so loud and intense that we can’t get any sleep. I put a pillow on my head. Not very witchy, but effective. But even Morgana and Thomas are annoyed.”

“Ah. See, I didn’t know that.”

“Well, they’re too polite to say anything.”

When that finally elicited a smile, she bumped his shoulder with hers. “So vanilla or chocolate. I’m partial to that yellow cake stuff myself.”

John nodded, this time turning to look at her. “Yeah. Sounds good.” When he said the word again, it was now with sincerity. “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.”

 

 

Jane used a box mix to make John’s cake. She wasn’t exactly what anyone would call domestic, but the recipe seemed easy enough to follow. When the oven caught on fire, Loki tagged himself in to help. Sherlock did not participate and sat sulking in the parlor. After getting everything together (more or less), Jane went to fetch John from his room.

John walked into the shop to Jane’s cheer of “Happy birthday!” and Loki blowing on a party horn. Sherlock was there too, skulking near Morgana’s cage. John got caught up staring at him for a moment, but then laughed when he saw the owl.

“She’s got a little party hat! How did you manage that?”

“Carefully,” said Jane with emphasis. She pulled him into the space they’d decorated, half with crepe paper that looked like it’d been sitting around in the shop for hundreds of years (an off-blue that was fading to purple) and half with big, fake flowers John could only assume were magicked. He grinned in spite of himself because it really was all very moving.

“Thank you,” he murmured. “It’s… Really, it’s great!”

Jane just smiled again.

Loki lifted his champagne glass to make a toast. “‘With mirth and laughter let old wrinkles come.’”

“Spare us your archaic sentiments,” snarked Sherlock.

Loki sipped slowly, paused to swallow, then spoke. “Are you telling me you have nothing to say on the anniversary of our young John’s birth, Sherlock?”

“Naturally, I do.”  

John looked up, and their gazes locked.

“You must think me a monster.” His words were toneless, and John just stared back at him. He reached into his cloak and pulled out a small, leather-bound book. Crossing the room, he dropped it into John’s hands. “Every witch needs one. You should have received it sooner.”

As he moved toward the door to rest of the house, John turned to look at him over his shoulder. “Stay,” he said, his voice steadier than he thought it would be. He hadn’t expected Sherlock to say anything like that to him, let alone in front of Jane and Loki.  _You’re not a monster, just stay with me._   

Halted by John’s thoughts, Sherlock stood with his back to the rest of them. Finally, he turned and seemed to move toward the glass counter, perhaps even to consider sitting behind it, but in the last moment, he turned and disappeared into the back again.

John sighed. Jane gave a little shrug and an eye roll to try and dismiss him, but his presence still hung in the air. She moved to touch John’s shoulder.

“Cake?” she tried. “We saved it just before it got all crusty.”

John nodded and forced a smile. “Yeah. Sounds good.”

 

 

Their evening was rather subdued (compared to many other evenings they’d all shared in the shop), but it was still quite a lot more exciting than most of John’s other birthdays. Because his father was often away on military business and Harry was always getting into some kind of trouble, he tended to feel like an afterthought, even on his big day. His mother had always given him an extra big hug, though, and smoothed his hair down as she told him how proud she was. Somehow, he missed that more than he’d thought he would.

But the party was fun, and Jane and Loki made for rather good company. John felt as if the three of them were finally getting along, plus he didn’t get quite as annoyed with Loki that night as he normally did. He even happened to think the two of them made quite a nice match. But his thoughts had gone with Sherlock when he’d left the room.

Finally, cake eaten and birthday glow beginning to fade, Jane decided to put on some music, yanking out an old CD player she’d found in the emotional collateral rubble of the shop and plugging it in. She and Loki began to dance to a jazz song that was heavy on the trumpet. John watched when Loki leaned down to kiss her cheek, and she laughed because of their considerable difference in height.

“See?” he murmured. “Told you I could dance.”

“Yeah, well, you had enough time to learn.” She ran her hands up over his arms and then back down, giving him a cool glance. “Must have been really awesome, using it to communicate before the invention of speech and all.”

He leaned down to bite her ear as she laughed.

John smiled, but the grin slowly started to fade from his lips. The champagne he’d drunk was giving him a double-sided feeling, sort of full but lonely. Slowly, he got up and left the room. Once out in the hall, he unwound the leather bindings on the book Sherlock had given him and opened it to find a beautiful journal full of fine, blank pages. On the first page, however, was an inscription.

“My candle burns at both ends;  
It will not last the night;  
But ah, my foes, and oh, my friends––  
It gives a lovely light!”

He found Sherlock in the usual place but was surprised to see a balloon sitting on the tea table next to him. He laughed and wished he’d had one fewer glass of the champagne.

“Kind of funny,” he said, pointing to the balloon. “Did you bring it here or did it just wander in with you?”

Sherlock looked up from the fireplace but said nothing. He turned back to it, his hands posed in prayer, in thought under his chin.  _I guess to him they’re one in the same_ , thought John.

“Um… The book. The inscription. It was lovely.” He swallowed. “But is that… why?”

Sherlock’s eyelids twitched, but he did not raise his head a second time.

John pressed. “Is it. Why. Because I’m gonna die some day and you’re… not? We’ll, you  _haven’t_. Yet. But you could teach me how to do the same for myself. You know you could. So what is this? Can’t you just… Can’t we try it?”

It was barely noticeable, but Sherlock’s hands pressed together somewhat harder. He then twined the fingers of both hands together and still refused to speak.

“You really don’t even want to  _try_ it? I mean, we’re good. We  _are_. We could  _be_  good. I know it.” John moved closer to Sherlock and placed a hand on his shoulder. “And I know you like me too.”

“Enough,” Sherlock growled, everything about the word a severe warning. Cease and desist.

But John ignored the words of the man who’d been his teacher, his commander for months now. He couldn’t back down anymore, he wouldn’t. A considerable amount of courage still on his side, he leaned down and pressed his forehead to Sherlock’s.

_Please_ , he thought because he knew it would gain a greater intensity if it was inside Sherlock’s mind.  _I know you want me, I can feel it. And I don’t want to run from it anymore, Sherlock. I don’t._

Sherlock jumped to his feet, shoving John away and flying out of the parlor as quickly as possible. His fierce movements and mental reaction (the latter of which was even more violent but tacit and beyond the use of regular words) had shaken John immensely, and it took him a moment before he could stand up straight again and walk back to his bedroom.

_You know I’m right_ , he thought, his own tone becoming hard and bitter.  _What are you afraid of?!_

He marched back into his bedroom and slammed the door. He wondered if he was too old now to throw himself down on the mattress and sob, but in truth, he’d always been the type of kid who preferred to punch the walls. Instead of any of that, he moved to just lie down, exhausted and hurt. He would have closed his eyes then and there if he hadn’t heard someone calling his name.

“John?”

His head snapped up because, oh, he knew that voice! So soft and understated and sweet yet always having the ability to make him feel safe, through lightning storms and loss.

“John?”

“Mum?”

He sat up and saw that the living mural had become a window to his own backyard. He saw the freshly trimmed sod and the cornflowers his mother loved so and the little patio table and chair where his father sometimes went to smoke cigarettes late at night. He felt a shudder rip through him.

“Mum.”

“John! Come in _side_.” She was softly chiding him but smiling all the while. She’d wiped her hands on her apron, and there was flour streaked across its pattern of tiny, white hearts. She tried to wave him over, and the back door to their home opened.

“John!” It was Harry now. She looked sullen but perhaps worried underneath. She tried to wave him over too. “Let’s go, John. C’mon! We’re all here!”

As if on cue, his father stepped out into the backyard and put a hand on his mother’s hip. “Hurry up, son. Come on home.”

Tears sprang to John’s eyes, and he hugged himself. “It isn’t them,” he whispered aloud. “It isn’t them, it isn’t. You’re doing this.” With a little moan escaping him, he said, “Why are you doing this?”

“John?”

“John.”

“John! Come inside!”

“Come back, John!”

“C’mon.”

“John!”

John cried out loud, gripping his legs as he shuddered under the weight of their familiar voices, ones he hadn’t heard in months. “Stop!  _Stop_ it, Sherlock! Stop!” He began to sob now, real tears created by an illusion, but ones that reminded him all too well of where he was. In a place that separated him from everyone he’d known and loved since he was small. And, if he continued going down this path, continued his tutelage and his association with Sherlock, he had a sinking feeling he’d never really see them again.

The voices began to fade as John cried harder. And when he did finally throw himself down on the mattress to sob, he did not care what it would look like. All he saw when he shut his eyes was Sherlock’s face when he’d pressed their foreheads together. And all he heard was his mother’s voice, calling his name and calling his name, on the brink of sounding nervous or worse but trying, as she always had, to hide any bad feelings with gentle positivity.

 

 

Alone again, naturally, Sherlock could hear all the sounds of the shop. The creaks and groans of the floorboards. The soft jazz music that played as Jane and Loki murmured and kissed. The rustle of Morgana’s wings. The voices he’d sent to torment John and the strangled cries for him to stop, please stop. He closed his eyes and tried to feel nothing. He tried to feel… Nothing.

But the tragedy of Sherlock Holmes was that he’d always felt everything far too deeply, since the very beginning.

_“For he’s a jolly good fellow._  
_For he’s a jolly good fellow._  
_For he’s a jolly good fe-EE-LOOOW!  
_ _Which nobody can deeeeenyyyyyyy!”_

_The room was filled with dozens of Loki’s friends, but it could have been hundreds for all Sherlock cared anymore. None of them would talk to him anyway. He’d been drinking since the start of the party (Scotch neat), and his mouth was now pleasantly numb. Better not to talk._

_He looked at his lover who was laughing with a woman Sherlock remembered meeting at one of those terrible conventions. What had been her name? Irene? It didn’t matter anyway. She hadn’t liked him. No one did. He saw her place her hand on Loki’s forearm and then her eyes darted to meet Sherlock’s. It made him feel physically ill for a moment, and he swallowed hard._

_The party went on long into the evening, to the point where Sherlock considered leaving by himself, but finally Loki found him in the parlor. He wrapped his long arms around Sherlock’s waist, but already the younger witch could feel the difference between his touch now and the way it used to be._ Like limp vines without the heart to squeeze the life out of me _, he thought to himself._

_Loki’s mouth was close to his ear, and the words that tumbled forth were laced with coolness and pacification. “You’ve been sulking all night. Is something wrong? Or do you just hate my friends that much.”_

_“They hate me. They always have.”_

_“Yes, I guess you’re right about that.” Loki pressed a kiss to Sherlock’s neck, and it felt like a flower decaying even as it opened. Sherlock growled._

_“Stop this.”_

_“What.”_

_“We both know what you’re going to do. What you’ve wanted to do for months, longer even. But you’ve been putting it off, and we both know it, so screw your courage to the sticking place and get it over with already.” Sherlock’s skin buzzed with liquor and rage. “Do it.”_

_Loki’s hands retreated, and they were two separate entities again. “I was waiting for the right time.”_

_“When? When you’d found another protégé you can stick your fingers into?”_

_Loki didn’t speak. He just stared at Sherlock until he realized his lover wasn’t going to make this easy. He sighed. “When the time was right.”_

_“Plenty of ripe girls and boys out there for you, honey,” Sherlock spat, the swirl of his emotions turning his insides to venom. “Once you toss me aside.”_

_“It isn’t like that, Sherlock. We were happy for a very long time.”_

_“Oh,_ yes _! But now, all that is over and done with. The teacher is no longer satisfied now that his student has surpassed him.”_

_“It isn’t_ about _that! We aren’t happy anymore!”_

_“And that is all, is it.”_

_“What’s the point in trying to force something that isn’t there?”_

_“I’m certain there isn’t one! But when you’ve known all this time––for months, for_ years _––that you wanted to go and waited for the least messy opportunity, waited until you could slip under another person’s skin, there_ is _a point!” Sherlock’s voice became a hiss. “You pathetic coward.”_

_“Don’t blame me for this,” Loki said flatly. “You turned away from me, toward the magick and everything else you possibly could. You saw this coming, Sherlock; why didn’t_ you _say anything?”_

_“I?_ I  _was meant to say something?! When_ you  _wanted to leave_ me _?!”_

_“You’re the one who had the vision, after all. Of that man holding you.” Loki’s voice lowered a bit. “Why bother when we both know it isn’t meant to be.”_

_“I chose you! I told you, I…” Sherlock felt tears welling up within him and was disgusted with himself. “How dare you try to turn this around on me?! Do you still think me to be a child?”_

_“You’re right. I have decided, but please. Can’t we handle this with a little dignity?”_

_“_ DIGNITY _?”_

_“Sherlock…”_

_He was shaking and nearly dropped his rocks glass as he thought to place it on the piano. Instead, he smashed it into a thousand shards, his skin barely registering the cuts._

_“Let me do a healing spell,” Loki murmured._

_“And then what?! And then you’ll want me to_ GET OUT, _I suppose? One last empty gesture before the axe falls.”_

_“Sherlock––”_

_“I’m meant to put hundreds years behind me like they’re nothing to make it easier for you, after everything, after––” He realized his mouth was shaking and reached up to touch it. For a moment, he couldn’t tell if the blood he tasted was from his hand or his lips (or somewhere else)._

_“You’ll move on.” Loki was back to his flat tone, the ice in his voice evident. “We both will.”_

_Sherlock was silent for a moment until he noticed the remains of his glass lying strewn across the rug, red droplets reflected in diamond-shaped patterns. His face hardened, and his voice became one he didn’t recognize. Still, he embraced his next words with everything he was._

_“No.”_

_“No?”_

_“No. I will never love again. And neither will you.”_

_Their eyes locked, and Loki saw something in his lover that sent a shot of fear straight to his veins._

_“Those are strong words,” he tried to warn him._

_“Curses usually are.”_

_Sherlock left then, the hand forgotten and the Scotch still soaking into the rug. Nothing else was said between them after that for a very long time._

 

 

When Sherlock thought back on that night, he could not now recall where he had gone after leaving the party. He only remembered the feeling of his magick crashing inside him like a hurricane as his curse was laid. Every time he thought about it, he had to remember that it had been real, that he had cursed them, and that he knew no way to lift the spell.

Now, as he sat in the parlor and thought of John, alone in his bed and weeping, and he felt the true sting of all his actions as they came back to embrace him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “I’m sorry.  
> Can’t make your party.  
> I’ll be busy burning.”  
> -“Party Song” by Keaton Henson
> 
> A/N: Loki’s quote is from The Merchant of Venice if anyone was wondering. And Sherlock’s is from a poem called “First Fig” by Edna St. Vincent Millay.


	12. In Which One Reaches the Surface and the Other Becomes the Moon

“Everyone could hear him last night. That was harsh, Sherlock. Even for you.”

“Ah, so… The original trickster didn’t like my trick?”

“That wasn’t a trick. That was…”

“I know.”

Sherlock was silent for a moment, staring down at the Persian rug in the parlor. He’d already let his tea go cold.

“He needed to understand.”

“What opposing you would bring him? I’m certain he does now.”

“Shut up.”

“You punished him for trying to…be close to you. For trying to love you.”

“There isn’t any point.”

“That’s not so.” Loki stared at Sherlock from his usual seat. Sherlock thought about how John had occupied it for a long while, felt comfortable in it, considered it his own. “You’re not a cold, cynical bastard all the time. You know how to be warm. You loved me once.”

“ _Did_ I?”

“Yes,” Loki said warningly. “But you… You don’t anymore.”

“I––I don’t know.”

They both heard the break in Sherlock’s voice, and Loki switched tactics. Be soothing.

“Things aren’t like we thought. We’ve proven that it didn’t work. The…” He trails off, uncomfortable.

“Curse.”

Loki sighs. “Yes. The curse.” The memory of that night hit them both like the torrential rainstorm that had accompanied the destruction of their lives together. Sherlock remembered walking in the rain the most, barely feeling it as his whole body hummed with magick and his hand dripped blood beside him. Loki remembered wondering which one of them had caused it, knowing the answer, and later convincing himself it hadn’t been so.

“It didn’t work, Sherlock. We’re not cursed.”

“You’re so certain?”

“I am.” He paused, touching the edge of his teacup. “You could love that boy. As much as you tell yourself that he isn’t the one from your vision and that you aren’t in need of someone. You fade into the walls of this place sometimes.”

Sherlock gritted his teeth. He knew the house was his own creation and therefore couldn’t, wouldn’t leave him. But it seemed sad and pathetic to hear someone else say it.

“And I have Jane. And we’re happy.”

“Are you?”  

“Yes.”

_But not in love_ , Sherlock thought.

“That will come with time.” Loki took a sip of his tea and leaned back in his chair.

_The things he touches belong to John_  came Sherlock’s thoughts again.  _But they truly belong to me._

“Everything in this house does. In a way, I think you see the people here as belonging to you too. But we can leave, Sherlock. And he will if you continue to hurt him. He’s just a boy.”

“So was I.”

“You… Refused to give up no matter what happened to you. It was only a very long time later when you did, after you’d already learned everything you could from me anyway.”

_John won’t give up easily either._

“Then you’re perfect for each other.” Loki finished his tea quietly and looked at Sherlock once more. “You won’t believe me when I say this, but I want to see you happy.”

“You’re right. I don’t believe you.”

“Put those deductive skills to work, Sherlock. Ask yourself, really… Why would I lie?”

Sherlock snorted. “Why  _wouldn’t_  you?”

Sighing, Loki tried not to smile. “Perhaps I’ll never escape my reputation. But this has gone on long enough. There is no curse, no spell, nothing holding us back from living lives free of the shadow we cast over one another.”

Loki leaned forward to try once more to capture Sherlock’s attention. The blue of his eyes shocked Sherlock when he felt he hadn’t really looked into them for such a long time.

“Go to him before it’s too late.”

With that, Loki stood and left the room, undoubtedly going to his newest lover. He seemed assured, on all fronts, that the curse hadn’t taken effect, but Sherlock had felt his magick stronger than ever that night, whispering revenge and scorn and spite, which were all just another side of love when its purity has grown sour. Deep down, he wanted to believe it hadn’t worked, that they were free to live their lives how they saw fit, but he couldn’t forget how he had felt that night, with his own storm raging through him.

But now, they both had their separate lives, separate suitors. And love? “That will come with time,”Loki had said. He believed himself capable of loving her the way he’d loved Sherlock. At this, Sherlock balked again when, somehow, Loki’s silver tongue hadn’t been quite as convincing as usual.

 

 

John lay in bed all day, deflecting soft prods from Jane to join her in the meditation room or to come have lunch. He felt like he was sick and continued to check himself for a fever, but he was always fine. He kept the covers pulled up to his ears, and every time he thought about getting up, he merely rolled over again. It wasn’t until the late afternoon that he heard a different voice at his door.

“Enough. We’ve work to do.”

Peering over his blankets, John saw Sherlock standing in the doorway, looking impatient. They hadn’t had lessons in almost four days, and all of a sudden, here he was, acting as if it were nothing. As if they could pick up so easily where they’d left off.

“Go ‘way,” John mumbled and turned away from him.

“What?”

“I said, go away. I’m not in the mood.”

“You’re still my pupil, and that means you will learn from me in the times I see fit, whether you desire it or not.”

“ _Is_ that what it means?” John snapped, sitting up to glare at him. “Or is that just how everything is around here, subject to your whims when three other people live in this house! I mean, for God’s sake, you’ve got animals living here that you call your companions, that you treat better than the actual  _people_  you share your space with! Do ever even think about that?”

“Enough of this moping. It’s gotten ridiculous, and you serve no purpose here like this.”

“Maybe I should just go, then?! Right?! That’s what  _YOU_  want! You’ve been wanting me to go since I stopped doing everything you said, since I proved to have any of my own desires at all. You certainly made that clear last night! So I should, shouldn’t I? Just get out of your hair so you can go back to living alone, to going unchallenged? Is-Is that why they’re  _here_  all the time anyway? So you don’t have to be alone with me?! Is––”

Suddenly, John shook his head, pausing. He made unconscious fists at his sides, and when he spoke next, his voice was full of bewildered pain, like an animal pacing its cage.

“You know, I don’t know why I’m trying…  _so hard_ … to get you to reach out the slightest bit. To give me the  _smallest_ bit of comfort when I’m  _so_   _lonely_. When I’m wanting you so desperately that everyone can see…” His words broke off, and Sherlock took in a small gulp of air.

“It’s not that you’re afraid I’ll hurt you. Is it. And it’s not that you’re afraid to hurt me because you have already. It’s that you’re afraid of what you can’t predict. Those few times when you, knowing so much, have to make that gamble. So you  _push_  until the outcome is one you can say you were expecting all along.” John looked up into Sherlock’s eyes, and Sherlock was startled by the steely blue of his apprentice’s, the same general hue as Loki’s and yet so different.

“The funny thing is, when you were young like me, I bet you thrilled at those moments you couldn’t predict, where you gave yourself over to the tide of your life. And now they just terrify you.”

John lay back down, pulling the blankets tight around himself and ending the conversation. In that moment, Sherlock was left with nothing: no reprimands, no brilliant response, no self-righteous anger, no words. For the first time in a long time, he slunk away from a fight and disappeared for the rest of day. John’s living mural became a scene of near-pitch darkness. The occasional movements and faraway lights were the only things that let him know he was viewing a scene that was taking place deep underwater.

 

 

_So?_  he asked himself, deep inside his mind palace.

_What are you going to do?_

_Do you even have any idea what it is you want?_

_If you did, would you know it?_

_Would you ever ask yourself on the surface of things what his eyes would look like when he came or how your name would sound coming from his breathless lips?_

_Would you dare to admit that your curse didn’t work?_

_Or that it did… and everything is now so much worse than you could’ve ever imagined?_

_Do you choose to be strong?_

_To be weak?_

_Or to forget?_

The halls of his mind palace were more cavernous and vast than even those of the shop. He sometimes lost things in its many rooms and was startled by them, centuries later. He saw himself a boy, lonely and thirsting for companionship and knowledge, two things he’d spent years trying to convince himself could be one in the same.

_My mind keeps me company_ , he’d always thought.  _I’m never alone, here inside my mind._

He opened a door and recalled Loki’s touch, and it made him shiver. He felt then that he craved someone’s touch but not Loki’s specifically. The old witch was all he’d ever known of love and lust until he’d come to find himself an old man… with this boy wanting him.

_And am I wrong to want him, perhaps wrong not to?_

But his next thought blindsided him as it seemed to come from nowhere he could gauge with any accuracy. It was the memory of John pressing his forehead to Sherlock’s, of his hands gripping the chair, of his mouth pleading but refusing to tremble. Sherlock had wanted him then, so much he couldn’t stand it, so much he ran away.

_No use hiding. Not anymore._

_So what do we say?_

_What is the answer?_

_When do I come up for air?_

_When, if ever, do I allow myself to forget?_

_People do it every day._

_Close the door._

_You will know peace._

_Close the door._

_Make the leap._

_Close the door._

Sherlock opened his pale, seafoam eyes. They were laced with the barest purple of his magick as he slammed door after door in his mind palace, as he prayed to no one that it would work. Memories of Loki locked away, he stood and walked toward his apprentice’s room once more.

 

 

John looked up from his book, something boring on magickal techniques even though the author seemed more interested in discussing his hobby of breeding snakes, and realized that the view outside his window had changed without him noticing. It was now a calm and quiet lake, not a breath of wind to disturb it, under the light of an unusually large full moon. The scene bathed his room in blues, and John wondered if this was the surface of the underwater vision he’d seen before.

He heard a noise and looked up to see Sherlock in his doorway again. John didn’t speak, but his frustration, hurt, and wariness were all evident on his face. Sherlock just moved into the room and was on his knees beside him before John could even be surprised. The elder witch took off his cloak and laid it on the floor. Then, with gentle hands, he reached out in the bluing darkness to touch John’s cheek and draw him closer.

“Oh, God,” John whispered and kissed him.

He had kissed a few girls before, never any boys although he’d wanted to. He loved how big Sherlock’s hands were as he caressed John’s skin and how Sherlock’s lips were thin but so warm. John groaned into the kiss, unable to hold back. He felt his magick inside him, reaching out like fingers toward Sherlock, and noticed the sigh that escaped his teacher. He kissed him with deepening passion and began to press closer, his knee ending up between Sherlock’s long legs as John eased into his lap.

It felt good, just as he’d imagined it would, and after several minutes, they were fumbling with one another’s clothes. He felt Sherlock’s skin against his hands as he ran them over his chest and stomach and moaned. Suddenly, he noticed Sherlock’s mouth had traced to his shoulder, and he jumped.

“What?” came the first whisper of Sherlock’s deep voice.

“You don’t have… have to do that. I’ve got a nasty scar there.”

Sherlock seemed to examine it, which embarrassed John. He tried to duck his head as his shirt hung open and around his elbows and wondered if he should say it again.

“It’s nothing. You can ignore it. My father kept guns in the house when we were young. It was an accident. I-I was lucky.” John fidgeted. “Sherlock…”

Perhaps it was hearing his name or something else entirely, but John couldn’t really be sure what had made him do it. Sherlock leaned in and kissed the scar, his tongue eventually finding the grooves and exploring them. John’s whole body began to shake.

“Ohhhhhh… Christ…!”

He could barely think at all once Sherlock started. The only thought that registered was how inexperienced he was, as always, compared to his teacher, how much he felt like he was throwing everything he had into merely keeping up.

_You’re fine_ , he heard Sherlock think, and his body jumped again.  _I’ll be gentle. I’ll make it so it doesn’t hurt._

“Oh!” John surrendered to him then without the slightest hesitation. The words sounded familiar, but he forgot why. He let Sherlock lay him down on the bed and reached for him with a soft moan.

“Please.”

“Yes,” Sherlock murmured in return.

John felt that he was undressed rather quickly, and this time he remembered thinking the same thing when he saw Sherlock’s first time. Once again, all thoughts were grounded when he felt Sherlock’s hands, coated in their purple magick, running down from his shoulders to his hips and sending a tingling sensation all through his body. He cried out then and felt concerned that he wouldn’t be able to hold on, perhaps that he would even melt away.

“Sherlock…” he called.

“Are you ready?”

John nodded hard, his face flushed. He could feel Sherlock’s body pressed against his, and there wasn’t a stitch between them.  _Isn’t this how you’ve been imagining it, night after night?_  John wasn’t sure if this voice was his own or Sherlock’s. He nodded again.

“Yes. God, yes.”

Sherlock touched him, and John felt what he’d seen in a long ago memory as Sherlock used his magick to take any pain away from him. He shuddered from the intimacy of the touch as Sherlock’s fingers worked against his hole. He gasped in anticipation and finally felt Sherlock’s cock press inside him. He tightened his grip around Sherlock’s shoulders with another moan.

“OH!”

“More?”

“Yes!”

Sherlock seemed so far away from him in that moment, and John opened his eyes just as Sherlock guided himself in deeper and began to rock his hips. It felt more amazing than the dreams John had had night after night as he’d imagined this moment, but it seemed empty somehow. John leaned up to touch his forehead to Sherlock’s, and he listened to him gasp.

“You want me? Show me. Because I’m yours. I’m yours.”

A violent shudder ran through Sherlock, and John held tighter. He felt their rhythm begin to pick up so he wrapped his legs around Sherlock’s waist as tight as he could.

“I’m yours!” he said again, this time in Sherlock’s ear. “I’m yours.”

Sherlock’s hips began to make powerful thrusts as he took John. The blue light of the room shuddered in and out of focus as John saw white stars and heard voices from distant memories, his or Sherlock’s he couldn’t tell. The spell slipped somewhat, and a dull pain shot through him. The length of Sherlock’s cock was still pressing inside him, and John cried out as he drove in deeper. He held fast, grateful for every sensation, good and bad.

Sherlock had begun to breathe faster, and his hips ground into John’s. It had all gotten away from him as he fucked John harder than he’d intended to, but never once did John let go. Sherlock often let his anger, his pain get the better of him, but for the first time in a very long time, his whole being was driven by desire. He wanted to disappear inside John, and in their joining, it seemed like he could. His soft moans melded with John’s as they sweated and writhed, their bodies near exhaustion. Sherlock reached down to lift John’s hips as he pressed himself in all the way. He gave him a hard squeeze, and John, with the most unabashed cry Sherlock had ever heard, unraveled beneath him. As he climaxed, his body melted into Sherlock’s, and the feel of John’s warm cum on Sherlock’s stomach and chest sent him over the edge as well.

They breathed hard, neither able to speak, and Sherlock opened his eyes to find John’s face. He tilted it down toward his own and saw John’s eyes had taken on the bright, neon blue of his magick. He sighed and felt more satisfied than he had in a many a lifetime.

“My eyes,” whispered John.

“Yes.”

John grinned, feeling like a man, like witch, like he had stepped into his own skin for the first time. He didn’t have the energy to say anything else, but his arms and legs refused to release the man who lay exhausted on top of him.

All was quiet inside Sherlock’s mind, something he hadn’t experienced in so long. Until he heard a sudden thought, one which was, unfortunately, not his own.

_I’m happy for you,_ dragón _._

And all the doors he’d painstakingly closed burst open yet again.

Meanwhile, John continued to smile. Neither of them spoke, and he eventually felt Sherlock begin to drift off to sleep while still in his arms. He lifted his eyes to stare at the lakeside scene, though he was looking at it upside down. It was beautiful regardless, and before he fell away to sleep himself, he remembered thinking he felt like that moon: silent, full, and powerful. Right where he was meant to be.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “The stars,  
> The moon;  
> They have all been blown out.  
> You left me in the dark.  
> No dawn,  
> No day;  
> I’m always in this twilight  
> In the shadow of your heart.”
> 
> -“Cosmic Love” by Florence + the Machine


	13. In Which They Get Back to Basics

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “Babe,  
> There’s something tragic about you,  
> Something so magic about you.  
> Don’t you agree?  
> Babe,  
> There’s something lonesome about you,  
> Something so wholesome about you.  
> Get closer to me.”

John woke the next morning to an icy cold room. He tilted his head back the same way he had the night before and noticed the landscape in his window had frozen overnight: it was now a lake of ice with a blanket of white on the dock and on all the trees in the distance. He smiled a little until it struck him that it might be some sort of inauspicious omen.

He shook the feeling away and managed to smile again, this time for a different reason. Though John hadn’t been certain he would be, Sherlock was still there. In fact, he was lying on top of John and didn’t seem to have any intention of moving as he was dead asleep. John could feel him breathing though and see the top of his head peeking out of the heavy blankets. His galaxy eyes were closed, but John was still fascinated by the way his lashes swept across his cheek. Tentatively, he reached out to touch the ends of his dark curls.

Something stopped him, and he realized immediately that he was getting way in over his head. He didn’t even know if Sherlock was going to want to look at him once he woke up, and John was already waxing poetic about his damn eyelashes! He needed to slow his roll and think.

He had wanted this for a long time, sure, but he couldn’t possibly assume it meant anything more to Sherlock than a one-time thing, not until he said it anyway. Oh, but he wanted it to be more than just that one night. John closed his eyes and let out a deep sigh. Sherlock must have known how important it was to him, must have known it was his first time and that he’d wanted Sherlock desperately and that he would still desperately want him in the morning. Which he did. But John had learned quickly that he could never assume Sherlock would pick up on the emotions of others unless he was trying to uncover something.

He didn’t have to lie there and pontificate much longer though because Sherlock suddenly opened one eye and glanced up at him. Caught off guard, John tried to play it cool, like he hadn’t been staring at the top of his curly head for about ten minutes now.

“H-Hey… Sherlock.”

“Mm.” Sherlock noticed that he’d been lying on top of John and slowly went about detaching himself. Although it was now easier to breathe, John felt disappointed.

“Well. How did you sleep?”

This was coming from Sherlock, another surprise for John.   
  
“Uh… Fine, fine. Yeah. You?”

“Fine.” Sherlock moved toward the wall and gathered the blankets around his waist, still leaving enough for John. He paused for a moment, seemingly considering how he would phrase his next words. “Any… discomfort?”

John tried not to look embarrassed, but he let out a strange, little laugh anyway. “Ah, no.” He cleared his throat. “You… took care of that last night.”

“Right.” Sherlock’s awkwardness was making John edgy, and the young apprentice wondered desperately why his master didn’t just read his mind.  _It’s not like you don’t know how to do it. Please just see… See how much I want––_

“So you’re fine, then?”

“Still fine, yeah,” said John. “Except I’m a little cold, I guess.”

“Oh! Right.” Sherlock glanced at the window. His thoughts seemed trapped for a moment, and he drew out the S at the beginning of his apology. “Ssssssorry…” He turned back to John. “Breakfast?”

“Are… you––Okay, yeah.” John nodded, trying to make sense of what had just happened. He never imagined pillow talk could be so clumsy. As Sherlock stood and gingerly picked his clothes up off the floor, John watched, thinking about how they used to talk when he’d first moved into the shop. They’d been so at ease with one another then that what was happening now seemed like a farce.

_I guess sex doesn’t solve everything_ , he thought. But as Sherlock bent down to grab his trousers, John smiled, admitting to himself that he didn’t mind the view.

 

 

Breakfast wasn’t as awkward as he thought it would be (it certainly wasn’t as awkward as waking up together had been), but it definitely had the same vibe. He cooked the eggs while Sherlock made the coffee, and Jane continued her streak of being unsubtle. She grinned at John across the table and seemed to be waiting the entire time for someone to bring up the previous night’s activities.

Finally, when the food was almost gone, she lifted her coffee cup to her mouth and asked, “So. Are you guys together now?”

“We… haven’t exactly discussed that, thank you, Jane.” John nodded and moved to clear the plates.

Jane grimaced in apology and threw a glance at Loki. Then she tried addressing the room again. “Maybe we can all go somewhere tonight? There’s that restaurant in Brazil Loki keeps saying he’ll take me to. A Chuva.” She turned to John. “Apparently, it’s a place you can only find with magick.”  

“I don’t think so,” murmured Sherlock around his own cup.

“Why not? We can double date or double… exist. It’s supposed to be a big deal, and since John and I are new witches, I figured it could be kind of like a right of passage. Besides, I’m starting to get cabin fever around here.”

“Then you may leave any time you choose.”

Jane rolled her eyes. “I didn’t leave school in the middle of getting my bachelor’s just to sit around. And John and I both know for a fact that you two want to impress us so…” She smiled at Loki. “Show us something.”

From his place at the sink, John thought about how he admired her charm, which seemed part of the many magick-based talents she possessed and he didn’t. The way Loki looked at her didn’t help; he had lamented more than once the fact that he never seemed able to get Sherlock to look at him like that.

“Dinner,” Loki agreed and leaned in to kiss Jane’s lips. Sherlock stood then and Loki followed him into the study. John sighed. He hated to admit it, but somehow, he thought that whole trend would have ended by now.

“You okay?” Jane asked.

“Yeah.”

“They’re not easy,” she said with a glance after the other two men. “But then again, neither are we.”

John laughed. “I guess not.”

“Not that I need too much detail since the magickal energy in this place was  _everywhere_  last night, but… How was it?”

John paused. The slide of Sherlock’s hands across his skin, the whisper of his voice in John’s ear, the hard feeling of him pressing inside and unraveling John all swam to his head. Jane shuddered a little, and he realized he couldn’t have hid his thoughts from her if he’d tried.

“That good, huh?”

John nodded softly. “Mhm.”

 

 

After feeding Morgana and Thomas, John went to his room to get O his dinner too and was surprised to find a jacket made of crushed blue velvet lying neatly across his bed. He dropped beside it, his eyes widening, and could already determine that it would fit him like a glove. The gift touched him somehow, more than Sherlock probably assumed it would.

As he kneeled there staring at it, John felt an idea click inside his head, a good one too. Though all of this was new to him (having sex, pillow talk, trying to figure out where he stood with the man he wanted), he now knew exactly what he had to do.

 

 

“Sherlock?”

At the sound of his name, Sherlock glanced up which already let John know he’d been deep in thought. Normally, he was ready for you before you even walked in the room, already knowing just what you were about to say. Once he had his attention, John held out his arms so Sherlock could admire the jacket on him.

“It looks very nice on you,” Sherlock said in a voice that was much softer than usual.  

“It’s for tonight?”

“Yes, of course.”

“I love it.” John said the words quickly, not wanting to betray his emotions, though he knew Sherlock could already tell how much the jacket meant to him. He took a step toward his master and was relieved to see the parlor was finally empty of Loki.

“Good.” Sherlock began to stand and gather his cloak around himself. “Well, I suppose I should dress as well.”

“You don’t have to.” John stepped into his way. “You don’t. We can just stay here.”

Sherlock stared at him, finally opting to study him for clues of his intentions (but whether he was reading John’s mind or just gaining what he needed from his expression, John wasn’t sure).

“You want to go,” Sherlock said.

“One day. I mean, it’s a magick restaurant so sure. But not tonight.” John stepped closer to him and looked up to catch his eyes. “Can’t we just… stay here?”

For a moment, he got a sudden fear that Sherlock would merely walk away. In truth, that fear was completely rational, as he had done it more than once in the middle of a conversation to avoid answering an undesirable question. But instead, Sherlock just nodded.

“Yes. We’ll stay.”

 

 

They ate dinner at the kitchen table, just the two of them, and Sherlock smiled when John showed him that he could now use his magick to pour liquids (specifically red wine) into glassware rather adroitly. The meal was typical fare, pasta and a light salad, and John only wondered for a moment what food Jane and Loki were eating at the mysterious Brazilian restaurant. Finally, he forced himself to do what he’d been dying to all night. Reaching across the table, he placed his hand on the back of Sherlock’s and looked up into his eyes.

“Shall we go back to my room now?”

Sherlock’s expression didn’t change, which instantly worried him.

“You’re not clamoring to get back in the parlor like old times?” he asked. “I thought you’d be thrilled, now that Loki’s not here.”

_Fuck. I should never think anything ever!_  He was busy rolling his eyes and didn’t notice Sherlock smile.

“I just, um… I thought maybe we could do it again. You know… The sex.”

Sherlock was smiling fully now, though he wasn’t showing teeth. It still made John blush.

“Yes, I am aware of what you mean.”

“Are we…” John tried to focus his energy and be more direct. “Are we gonna do it again?”

“Do you want to do it again?”

“You know I do!”

This time, Sherlock laughed. John was busy turning scarlet when he finally noticed Sherlock was standing up.

“C’mon.”

John’s whole body buzzed as he stood, and he started to turn down the hallway toward his bedroom. Instead of following, Sherlock grabbed the back of his jumper.

“Hold on. This way.”

As Sherlock repositioned him, John blinked and protested. “But my room’s that way. Where are we gonna do it? The lab? Doesn’t seem safe.”  _Or sanitary_ , he started to think when he realized Sherlock had opened the door to his bedroom. John’s mouth dropped open. Perhaps the moment shouldn’t have been as big as it was, but John had never seen the inside of Sherlock’s room before.

The bed was a four-poster and high up off the floor. It was a shock to John after he’d been essentially sleeping on a mattress for several months. The floors were hardwood, the curtains a dark purple, and a large rolltop desk dominated most of the room’s far side. John was astounded by the dozens of tiny drawers sticking out of the desk and the ancient-looking labels that adorned them, many written in languages John couldn’t read. A few candles were burning on long posts near the bed, and Sherlock’s sheets were the same color as the curtains.

“Wow,” John breathed. “It’s… intimate. It feels just like you.”

He knew no other way to describe it, but Sherlock knew what he meant. He watched John admire the room and didn’t speak. For a moment, he allowed himself to merely sink into the walls and become part of the room itself, watching John admire it. Far from his body, he felt the warmth of John in his own private sanctuary and noticed that he changed the room somehow just by being in it. Sherlock snapped back into full focus, however, when John turned around and smiled at him.

“Can we…? In your bed?”

Sherlock nodded.

They undressed one another quickly, and John became distracted again once he was lying naked on Sherlock’s sheets. He felt devious and excited, just the fact that he was lying undressed on purple sheets being completely alien to him and yet so exquisite. He received his own reality check when Sherlock, crouched over his body, leaned down to wrap his mouth around the head of his cock.

John groaned and made fists in the sheets.

“Oh, god, Sherlock! Ah-mmm…” He had begun to grow hard immediately as soon as he realized he was about to receive his first blowjob, but the way Sherlock sucked and teased had him whimpering in under ten seconds. Sherlock tongued at the slit and then began to take John in deeper. Though his cock was considerably thick, Sherlock accommodated it easily and just continued to slowly envelop him until John’s fists on the sheets had become fists in Sherlock’s hair.

“Oh, Sher––Ah!”

John heard a small growl from his master and arched his body up until he could barely stand the pleasure of it. Sherlock took him in all the way then, and John came with warm shudders as he felt himself hit the back of Sherlock’s throat. He tried to sputter an apology, but Sherlock didn’t seem concerned at all. He swallowed several times and then removed John’s cock from his mouth. This came as a relief to John but only because he was afraid if Sherlock kept swallowing like that, he could come again right then and there.

“Chrrrrrist.” John flopped back onto the bed with a sigh and felt Sherlock lie down next to him. “You’re good at that.”

“Thank you. It’s been… awhile.”

“Couldn’t tell.” Wearing an irrepressible smile, John reached up to put his hand on Sherlock’s hollow cheek. “Sorry I came so fast. And without saying anything. And in your mouth.”

Sherlock laughed, deep and rich, and John nearly groaned at the sound of it. “It’s fine. I can read you; I don’t need much warning.”

“Right.” John gave a sigh that was halfway between satisfied and exhausted. “Is there anything you can’t do?”

Sherlock snorted. “Plenty.” He turned away from John to reach into his nightstand. As John watched, he took out a pack of cigarettes and lit one with the tips of his fingers, a small, purple flame giving way to silver smoke.

John thought for a moment about how Sherlock seemed so calm ever since last night. It seemed odd until John remembered that it had been a long time for him, or so he said. Maybe it was a sign that it had been good, that Sherlock was satisfied too. He immediately worried, though, that Sherlock was reading his mind and stopped his train of thought. Instead, he rolled onto his side and looked up at Sherlock’s profile, watching him smoke.

“The magick restaurant. How is it magick?”

“A Chuva. It means ‘the rain’ in Portuguese. There is actual precipitation inside the restaurant, and it has grown its own ecosystem as a result. Sort of like an untouched rainforest and dining experience all rolled into one.”

John laughed. “I went to a place that was like that when I was a kid! It had animals that moved and fake trees, and every half an hour, they played thunderstorm noises over the intercom. But I guess this one’s actually real.”

“It’s quite an impressive place with likely a much more fantastical effect than the experience you had. It rains on everything nearly all the time.”

“Hm.” John smiled. “How do you keep all the food from getting wet?”

“It’s enchanted by the cooks.”

“And the patrons?”

“If you’ve magick, you can do just fine. I’m sure Jane is faring well, but I’m not certain you could’ve handled it at your current stage. You may have been the only one at the table sopping wet.”

“Piss off!” John leaned over to push Sherlock and was rewarded with another deep laugh. He swallowed and the thought came back to him, the one he’d spent all night trying to avoid. He considered just thinking it, letting Sherlock pick up on it instead of making himself say the words. But there was something freeing in saying things he was afraid to say.

“This is what I wanted this morning.”

After a pause, Sherlock tilted his head downward in what John could only suspect was a nod. He’d acknowledged John’s feelings, but it wasn’t enough.  _I just need a little more_ , John thought. He didn’t realize then that he always would.

“We’re gonna keep doing this, right? You want to?”

Sherlock turned to meet his gaze and blew a steady stream of smoke from his nose, looking a lot like a dragon for a brief moment. It gave John a small pang in his chest as he remembered what Loki always called him. He took a deep breath.

“Y’know, I… I don’t need to know. About what happened with Loki or anything else you don’t want to say.” He looked up to meet Sherlock’s gaze head on. “I just want to know you want this. That you want me. And we could keep doing it all, just like this.” He pressed a little closer to Sherlock, his mind getting swimmy with the thought of their bodies being intwined and Sherlock pressing inside him again. “…Can we?”

Sherlock leaned backwards to put his cigarette out in a glass ashtray by the bed. Then, he turned back to John.

“Yes,” he said. “But as for anything else, I’m not––”

“I’m eighteen,” John interrupted. “I’m not either. I just want… this.”

He leaned up to pull his master into a kiss, and seconds later, Sherlock could feel John’s cock pressing hard against his thigh. Trying not to think, he sighed into the kiss and wrapped his arms around John’s small frame.

_Be inside me again_ , John thought, and it was Sherlock’s turn to shudder. He laughed though, gently, as he nodded.

_Always wanting a little more_ , he thought. He wasn’t afraid John would try to read his mind because he knew his apprentice’s thoughts were very much occupied at the moment. But, as they continued to touch, kiss, and draw out one another, Sherlock’s thoughts became more numerous, a thousand whispers that nearly formed an unreadable din. He tried to ignore it, but every so often, one would be clear, like breakthrough pain in the middle of tolerable agony. Finally, he couldn’t help but to listen.

_He’s a boy––Weren’t you though?––And isn’t he just as you were, just as curious, just as desiring?––Don’t you look into his eyes and see exactly what you were?––there’s no possible way he could be the one, the one from that vision––I barely remember––But you do remember––The feel of his arms around you were just the same as he held you––as you cried––Those arms; these arms––The same.––He’s a boy––And mine––No, nothing like that––an apprentice––a student––a boy––I want to show you everything––Give you––You only asked for this. Not too much. Just a little more._

_HE ALWAYS WILL. HE’LL ALWAYS NEED A LITTLE MORE. AND WHEN YOU GIVE IT TO HIM, HE WILL FORGET. AND WHEN HE FORGETS, HE WILL STILL ASK FOR MORE._

The last thought wasn’t a thought at all but instead had the feeling of a vision, giving him the same familiar sting behind his eyes that he felt whenever he gained a sudden insight into the future. It troubled him until John pulled him on top with a small, pleading moan, and Sherlock’s mind quieted completely, his only conscious thought wrapped up in the part of his mind palace reserved for John. A part that, unbeknownst to him, was softly growing like vines across a cottage wall, like an untended garden that smelled sweet and crept cautiously all the way up to your doorstep before you even noticed it was even there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “Honey, you’re familiar  
> Like my mirror years ago.  
> Idealism sits in prison.  
> Chivalry fell on its sword.  
> Innocence died screaming.  
> Honey, ask me,  
> I should know.  
> I slithered here from Eden  
> Just to sit outside your door.”  
> -“From Eden” by Hozier


	14. In Which the Characters Get a Little Off-Track and Turn This into a PWP

Minichapter: 

Sherlock’s mind palace was a place of organization, of pristine beauty and marble-floored order. Of course, certain rooms were piled high with books, with papers, with boxes, but he knew it all and where it belonged. He could close his eyes and venture into any room with confidence. 

Except for John’s room. It wasn’t well tended and, recently, Sherlock noticed that it had begun to notice minuscule, creeping vines coming through the cracks in the floor and the ceiling and the walls, vines of ivy and kudzu, of honeysuckle and golden hops. They troubled him, a witch who should have had all the answers, but he could no more cut them down than cut out his own heart. 

Nothing seemed to change the situation. Not meditation, not charms, not even a cup of all-healing peppermint tea. Sherlock lived with the constant fear that John’s room, with its unkempt tendrils growing longer with every passing day, would eventually overtake his entire mind palace and leave it looking like those abandoned places one came across in dreams, covered in a blanket of green. Except, sometimes, in the moonlight, those vines looked blue. 

Sherlock tried to convince himself that it was nothing to worry about and locked the room away behind a heavy door with a big, brass key. He tried to do what he could to discourage its growth, whether his methods were magickal or not. But every time he saw John smile, every time he drew closer in his sleep, Sherlock felt the room shift a little more. And the vines would grow and grow. 

Once, he had a nightmare that his mind palace had become an empty husk, just as he feared, carpeted on all sides with flora and dirt, the wallpaper disintegrated, the high ceilings a canopy. And when he walked inside, he only heard the same echo through each and every hall. 

_John…_ and  _John…_  and  _John…_

 

 

 

Chapter Fourteen

 

“This is how I show my love.  
I made it in my mind because  
I blame it on my ADD, baby.”

 

From where she was lying on her stomach and reading at the end of the bed, Jane leaned up on her elbows. She listened for a moment before throwing her head back in astonished laughter. The laugh was filled half with disbelief and half with admiration. “Oh my god. They’re going at it AGAIN.” She turned to look at Loki who at first seemed to be meditating but was probably just vegging out. “Can you believe that?”

“Mm. I can.”

“Ah. Right.” Jane nodded and tried to smile goodnaturedly. “So I guess that would mean Sherlock was always… insatiable.”

Loki opened one eye to look at her. “Well, not as much as you.”

This time, her smile was fully genuine. “Hey, you’re one to talk! It’s not like I always ask for you to do the stuff you do…”

“How can I not, though, when I’m fully aware of how much you want me to?”

She kicked him in the thigh, and he reached down to take ahold of her foot, which just made her smile more.

“Don’t be so damn good at it,” she murmured and then rolled onto her back. “That silver tongue of yours is criminal. And I’m pretty sure between the two of us, we turned that hotel room in Brazil into a smoking crater.”

“In my defense, after you had all those drinks and slipped you hand into my pocket, what else could I do?”

She giggled again and realized it had been a long time since she’d heard herself laugh this much. Maybe before her parents died? It would almost annoy her that she could possibly be so giggly around him, after she’d been the practical girl for so long who preferred books to boys and had told herself she definitely wasn’t going to let one of the latter derail her life or her plans. But plans didn’t have much meaning when you were close to being taught the secret to prolonging your lifespan, and she really was happy when she was with him. Go figure. Jane Foster could be a sap as well as an antisocial misfit who usually stared up at the stars instead of the guy with whom she was sitting under them.

They  _had_  destroyed the hotel room after coming back from the restaurant, and Jane had curled up beside Loki, whispering that it was a night she definitely wouldn’t forget. As she began to fall asleep, she asked herself where they might possibly go next. There were so many places she was dying to go, but in the morning, Loki hadn’t seemed to be considering anything other than going back to Sherlock’s. Jane tried to put a brave face on it, but it surprised her. “I don’t like to stay in the same place for too long,” he’d said to her once, and now, she couldn’t help but wonder why he’d changed his mind. Maybe it was because he and Sherlock were finally getting along, but she couldn’t shake the thought that this was really about something else, a thought that was always accompanied by numbing fingers clutching at her heart.

_It’s not a problem_ , she told herself.  _I like Sherlock, the shop, John, the animals. And it’s a good place to learn. Plus, we shouldn’t leave without saying goodbye._

But she could feel her palms itching even as she said the words to herself, a kind of warning sign that had served her well her whole life, even when she hadn’t been aware of her magickal gifts.

Part of her wanted to just say it, to get it out in the open. Is there some reason why we’re still here? Does it have to do with you and Sherlock and… everything between you two? But instead, she asked herself again: when was the last time you were this happy? So instead, she pushed the thoughts aside, kicked out her legs a little more, and bicycled them at Loki on the other end of the bed.

“You think it’s gonna be like this for a while? Us in here, and them in there?”

He seemed to think about it for a moment, but she didn’t see the gears working behind his eyes like she normally did when he was considering something she’d said. Instead, he looked down at her right foot, the one he had in his hand, and slowly pressed his thumb against the arch hard, running it up the inside and to the ball of her foot. She closed her eyes at the feeling that rippled through her.

“There’s nowhere I’d rather be.”

When she stared up at the ceiling, Jane tried not to ask herself what he meant: if he’d rather be with her than anywhere else or if he had no desire to leave Sherlock’s shop…ever.

 

 

Sherlock woke from another fitful bout of sleep, that dream about John and his mind palace and disarming him again. He opened his eyes to the sight of John’s body curled up underneath him, his face smushed into Sherlock’s pillow. The last time they’d woken, sometime the evening before, John had teased him about how Sherlock, apparently, slept on top of John. The evidence was fairly damning.

He rolled to the other side of the bed and onto his back to look up at nothing in particular. The past few days had all been nearly identical, with no one leaving their bedrooms except to feed the animals, feed themselves, and/or use the bathroom. At one point, John and Loki had run into each other in the kitchen which had ended in both of them glaring over one another’s arms as they tried to grab things out of the fridge. When Jane and Sherlock crossed paths, however, they managed to have somewhat of a decent conversation about futuresight, and their other halves were obligated to come and find them after about thirty minutes.

All in all, the house had been divided (but not in a disagreeable way) and rather quiet (but not in a soundless way). They’d all managed to hear snippets of the others’ love lives, whether they’d been trying to or not. Jane and John were both considerably loud, but Sherlock could get quite vocal, given the right moments. Loki liked to talk, but the couple in the other room never caught much above a dull whisper. It was, to say the least, awkward, but the fact that everyone was having copious amounts of mind-blowing sex more or less made up for that.

The dream now starting to fade from his mind, Sherlock looked John over and watched the way his chest rose and fell with sleep. What he was beginning to feel for John, what he had truly felt for a long time, was finally impossible to ignore. He had tried to do so because it was inconvenient to say the very least, and now, there was much less room to deny it. He thought about his mind palace covered in vines. The creeping vines that belonged to John and often threatened to blanket his entire existence. He shuddered.

_I’ve already been consumed once_ , he thought.  _I’m not looking to be that again._

But after he realized nearly twenty minutes had gone by while he merely stared at John’s sleeping face, he leaned in to kiss his lips, unable to stop himself, or so it seemed. John made a small noise in his sleep and opened his eyes, smiling into the kiss.

“Morning,” he said.

“It’s evening again,” Sherlock purred in the way he only did when the two of them were already sprawled out in bed together. John grinned again and reached out to touch the ends of Sherlock’s hair.

“It always seems to be, doesn’t it. When you wake me. Are you trying to make a night owl out of me, darling?”

The word escaped him without warning, and he could see the minuscule movement of Sherlock’s mouth, almost as if he was about to form it but then stopped himself.

“Was that weird?” John asked. “It just kinda… slipped out, sorry.”

“No, it’s… fine.” Sherlock’s eyes were back on him now, and it made John feel warm. Whenever his master looked at him like that, he felt a million things at once and didn’t seem to ever have a name for any of those feelings. He only knew he didn’t want to stop touching, being close, being just like this. He decided to pretend it hadn’t happened and just smiled up at the man in his arms.

“Okay, then.” he said before brushing his own lips against Sherlock’s. “Why don’t you finish that kiss? And whatever you had planned for after.”

“Can’t you just read my mind?” Sherlock teased, turning John’s own words back on him.

With a soft laugh, John felt relieved that they were going to ignore it and murmured, “I like having you surprise me. You always do.”

When they did finally kiss again, John was lost in the feel of Sherlock’s hands on his skin, Sherlock’s mouth on his mouth, Sherlock’s sinewy body pressed against his own that he hardly thought of anything else. Except that, for the first time, he was afraid he actually did have a name for all those swirling, warring emotions this man made him feel. And that all of them were just a part of one all-encompassing feeling.

 

 

“Oh. My God!” Jane sat up at the end of the bed and startled Loki who had been asleep with his head on her chest. “They’re doing it again! Unbelievable.”

Loki murmured something incoherent, perhaps even in a different language, and bury his face back into her boobs. But Jane was already awake and kicking her legs toward the headboard.

“The time this morning lasted  _hours_ , it seemed like. How do they have the energy to keep going like that? I know, magick and stuff, but jeez!Do they ever do anything else?”

“Do any of us?” Loki said, his face pressed against her camisole.

Suddenly, Jane smiled and grabbed him by his hair so he was forced to look up at her.

“Let’s give them a run for their money.”

“Yeah?” Even in his sleepy state, Loki managed to break into a wicked grin.

“Yeah.”

And as he leaned up to kiss her, the competition officially began.

LADIES AND GENTLEMEN, WELCOME TO THE SEVENTY-FIFTH HUNNNNGAAA GAAAAAMES!

But seriously.

 

 

Jane yanked Loki down into the bed and immediately flipped him onto his back so she could climb on top. He reached up to pull of her camisole and run his hands into her tumbling, brown hair. When his mouth closed over her nipple, she moaned and bucked her hips against him, her whole body already buzzing under his touch.  _Even without magick, we spark_ , she thought.

She heard his response echo through her mind.  _Damn right, love_.

Meanwhile, in the next room, Sherlock was kissing his way down John’s chest, reveling in the little grunts and sighs he made as Sherlock’s mouth and tongue worked over his skin. Suddenly, he heard a loud, feminine moan and stopped his descent immediately. They couldn’t possibly…

“Ah! Loki!”

Sherlock made a face that encompassed the epitome of vexation: a monumental eyeroll coupled with a slack jaw and sigh of immeasurable disgust. They  _could_ , and they were. Apparently, this was a contest now, as they could not just let him enjoy his exploration of John’s body and the newness of their lovemaking. Of course not. Still, as much as he was annoyed (and the word didn’t even begin to cover it), he was never one to back down from a challenge.

“Sh––Sherlock,” John mumbled, his breathing hitching in his throat. “Is everything––?”

Sherlock moved lower and took John’s cock into his mouth, sucking hard on the tip and running his fingers down the rest of his length. John’s whole body shuddered, and he cried out louder than Sherlock had ever heard him.

“Ah-HH! Sherlock! God.” He thrashed his head back against the pillow and reached down to grip Sherlock’s curls as his master took him in deeper. More quickly than John thought possible, Sherlock had his entire length in his mouth and was quickly building a rhythm that made John squirm. As he groaned and cried out louder, Sherlock’s hands moved up to his chest, spreading through his outstretched fingers a wave of magickal energy so intense that John came on the spot. Gasping, he reached for Sherlock but had no idea what was in store.

Inside her now, Loki thrust his hips upward with a sharp gasp, and Jane rolled her head back as she snaked her body above him. They both heard John’s climax clearly through the wall.

“Ah… Guess that’s that.” Jane reached out to grip one of the bedposts by the footboard, her body shuddering with her own oncoming orgasm.

“I doubt it,” Loki said, his lips grazing her neck. “He won’t give up so easily.”

Jane immediately realized he meant Sherlock. She began to move faster, her own pleasure intensifying with the rocking of her hips. “Well, neither do I.”

As his lover lay under him in what can only be described as a sex coma, Sherlock felt John’s limp hands in his hair and turned to kiss the palm of his left. John attempted to string words together to illustrate his satisfaction, but Sherlock leaned up to get closer and again ran his hand over John’s cock, magick coiling from his fingertips.

“OH!” John was shocked by the immediate erection Sherlock gave him with just a simple touch and gasped loudly as his master leaned over him, smiling, to catch him in a kiss. He tried to sputter questions, “How did you––? What did you––?” but Sherlock was already touching him, teasing him, undoing him again.

“Ahhnn…”

“FUCK, baby!” Jane was riding Loki hard, her hands on his chest, losing herself somewhat in the moment but trying to remember to be loud. She didn’t have to try hard. Beneath her, Loki held onto her hips and shuddered, his own body taut under her movements.

“Ah, yes, Jane. Just like that… Ride me, my darling girl. Ah. Love… Jane.”

His whispers were only loud enough for her to hear, but it didn’t matter. As for the competition, the odds were ever in John’s favor, as he was the only one who hadn’t realized this was a game. After entering him and making, slow hard thrusts that had John bouncing off the bed and crying out until he was hoarse, Sherlock had already made him come once more and had once again begun to coax him back into a shuddering mess. Between Sherlock’s magick and Sherlock’s body, John was at sea with no desire to return to shore.

“Oh, Sherrrrrrlock.” Purring, John arched his back and twisted his head back into the pillow until he thought he couldn’t take any more. Suddenly, he heard a sound from the next room, a laugh and a moan. He heard Loki’s low, cool voice and Jane’s plea for him to go harder. John turned back to stare up at Sherlock, his head whipping around so fast that their noses collided.

“This is some kind of… of game?”

His own breathing halting and sharp, Sherlock slowed his rhythm and swallowed hard. “Yes.” John waited for him to explain, but he said nothing else. By this point, he’d almost stopped moving. Next door, John could hear an extremely fake-sounding moan, an admonishment, and a girlish laugh.

“Sorry, baby, but we’re winning! Most of the others were real…”

John stared at Sherlock for a moment, then shook his head. “The hell they are!”

He leaned up to kiss Sherlock with such force that John heard him yelp a little. As John lifted his hips to take Sherlock in deeper, he moved his mouth down and kissed, bit, and licked his way across Sherlock’s long, white neck. He’d already realized that many of his master’s most intense pleasure points were there, and when he found the spot behind his ear, well…

The moan that escaped Sherlock when John sucked and licked the spot just below his earlobe was unabashed and wanton, a boyish sound that left John completely satisfied. They fucked, at once passionate and shameless, until both of them were gasping into their climaxes.

Jane collapsed on Loki’s chest after coming down hard on him one final time, the stars exploding behind her eyes again. It could have ended there, but it would never be known who started things up again, whether it was the result of Loki’s hands or John’s mouth. The official results were never tallied, and while it would forever be considered a personal victory by each of the contestants, it would be fair to call it a draw. Eventually they each fell into a deep sleep, exhausted and shagged out of their minds. Unfortunately, this night of bliss ended in a series of dreams that were frightening, impossible, and yet  _real_ , so real.

 

 

Loki dreamt of ships gliding across distant oceans, their sails proud and tall under the threat of impending clouds. He heard whispers in the Old Language, a message perhaps, but they sounded instead like a poem that did not rhyme. He at once realized he was standing upon a cliff and looked down into the water. His reflection disturbed him in two ways: first, the smile plastered across his face was serpentine, even for him, and grimly false; second, a gaping, red hole filled with gristle was where his heart should have been. He glanced behind him to see Sherlock, holding a jar full of dust, and Jane with his missing heart, her lips red with blood.

Jane dreamt that she could hear screaming, like a child or a woman wrenching her lungs over and over. She was in a Hall of Mirrors, like the one at the carnival funhouse where she’d gotten her first kiss. Stumbling, she tried to find the source of the scream, wanting to help, wanting to make it better, but eventually, she just wanted it to  _stop_. She was almost ready to sob herself when she saw a mirror in which her reflection wore a black cloak and hard, bloodred eyes. As she beheld herself, her reflection screamed and screamed, and Jane screamed back, until every mirror shattered around them.

John dreamt of Morgana soaring through the air, her large wings beating over his head as she came closer and closer. He ducked down to cover himself and then heard a murmur in Sherlock’s voice. “No,” he said, “that never will do.” Sherlock lifted his hand for the great bird, and she perched upon his forearm, light as air. “If you can’t take care of her, where will she go?” John opened his mouth to ask what Sherlock meant when the image of his master disintegrated in front of his eyes. John tried to call for him but was horrified when Morgana spread her wings and disappeared as well, leaving him completely alone.

Sherlock dreamt of a sea of faces, of John in a mask, of a place that was both lonely and warm, and of a lilting voice telling him, “We all make  _do_  with what we’ve got, Sherlock. I did. Or I will. And you, you already  _know_ … The honeymoon is over.” He dreamt of a giant wheel that he’d somehow set into motion, rolling along across a long road. He knew he had to make it stop, that it was rolling because he’d set it rolling, and that he had to make it stop or… Or it would crush them. All of them. But he didn’t know. He didn’t know how to make it stop.

As they awoke, they reached for one another in the darkness and said nothing of the dreams. The memory of them had started to fade, but the feelings were still there. The fear. The hurt. The shame. The honeymoon was over.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “Sail with me into the dark,  
> Sail!  
> Sail with me into the dark,  
> Sail!  
> Sail with me into the dark,  
> Sail!”  
> -“Sail” by AWOLNATION
> 
> (A/N: The plot will always catch up with you.)


	15. In Which Time Marches On

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “It’s comin’ on Christmas.  
> They’re cuttin’ down trees.  
> They’re puttin’ up reindeer and singin’  
> Songs of joy and peace.  
> Oh, I wish I had a river  
> I could skate away on.”

Christmas was a holiday that often went by unobserved in Sherlock’s shop, as was every other holiday, even those which more firmly fit into his other ancient practices. However, the enthusiasm of Jane and John for the holiday season made that kind of difficult. Both of them felt that it might be helpful to celebrate  _something_ , especially when they’d all been in the shop together for almost a year, and they each held warm and happy memories of their families being together during the holidays when they’d been young. Though neither of them had any serious religious ties (John’s parents were Christian while Jane’s had been Jewish but neither were extremely devout), it was more about the feeling the season causes: that desire to keep warm in the arms of a loved one while you celebrate the year that’s closing in around you.

“You’ll enjoy it,” John said as he nuzzled Sherlock’s neck. Sherlock just rolled his eyes and sighed heavily, but John knew the absence of a flat out NO gave him something to work with.

“It’ll be fun. Tinsel and twinkly lights and stuff like that. Plus, you were probably at Christ’s birth so you can like, tell us the story and explain all the inaccuracies in modern interpretations and stuff.” Jane gave Loki a sugary smile, squinting and scrunching up her nose, which Loki returned in the same fashion.

“Ha ha.” He wrapped his arms around her and ran careful fingers into her hair. “Does your plan involve making love in front of a roaring fire or something equally festive?”

“Totally. And a menorah to boot.”

She didn’t say much else while Loki prattled on about the traditions of  _Jul_  and his own involvement in them lifetimes ago. While she was only listening with one ear, she thought she heard him deem himself responsible for the tradition of hanging mistletoe (yeah, right), but she didn’t mind his tall tales. Something about listening to Loki talk always did put her at ease, even though she knew about half of what he said was bullshit. At this particular moment, she was mostly rolling one thing he’d said over and over in her mind like kneading dough.

Making love in front of a roaring fire… He used that word a lot. Love. He used it to describe the way they fucked, which in her mind was pretty kinky, but she could still feel that there was tenderness and true connection there. He called her by the pet name, and after she’d asked him if he called all his apprentices that, he’d remarked with seriousness that she was the only one upon whom he’d bestowed the term. And after she’d counted up all the times he’d said it, it truly began to make her wonder about what he wanted, what he felt.

But Jane wasn’t one to let another person’s feelings dictate her own for long, and she asked herself finally what  _her_  stance was. Do you love him? Though she’d had her share of boyfriends before, the only people she’d ever truly loved were her mother and father, now gone for several years, and the sting of their passing only ached at certain times, times like now.

She remembered in school her best friend Maria Hill who was captain of the ROTC and could be pretty stoic most of the time unless you put a beer in her hand. Maria’s boyfriend Steve Rogers wasn’t really Jane’s type, but he was honestly the sweetest guy she’d ever met. The two of them were pretty private when it came to their relationship, but sometimes, Jane would notice the way they sat together when they thought no one was looking: Maria’s fingers wrapped around Steve’s large palm and one of her rare smiles spreading over her mouth. Steve would lean down to kiss her fingers and look at her like he worshipped her, like he truly felt he could be himself in her presence. Jane teased them for being too cute and threatened to sue, but she secretly believed that they were one of the only instances in which she’d ever been in the presence of true love.

She knew they must have their problems when loving each other wasn’t enough, but she also knew that her relationship with Loki wasn’t like what Maria and Steve had. Still, did love have to be like that comic strip with the two little naked kids, or could it be what she had with him? Weird, definitely. Twisted, sure. But no less real and no less heartfelt. Loki was the strangest person she’d ever met––and sometimes she wasn’t sure he even was a person––but when they lay side by side in the middle of the night or when he whispered into her ear as he made love to her, she felt like he was  _hers_. Maybe not the perfect response to everything she needed or wanted, but someone she didn’t want to be without. And if she was being honest with herself, she already reached for him in the dark, already thought about them living together, learning and traveling more, already imagined what the next year (and the years after that) would bring.

Maybe love wasn’t just one way. On that note, she supposed she did love him. And in her heart, she knew she could choose to go on loving him in the way that she already did. She felt the pulsing of her magick inside her body when she told herself it might just work, and in spite of her doubts, she smiled.

“What?” he asked when he saw the grin.

“Not right now,” she told him.

He looked her over, feeling the way she was protecting her thoughts at all costs. Finally, he gave a slow nod. And for once, Loki stayed silent.

 

 

Sherlock was uncomfortable when he saw the trappings of various holidays strewn around the parlor. The Yule log crackled in the fireplace and under the small tree sat several brightly wrapped packages and bags of chocolate coins. From the ceiling, they’d hung paper chains of green, red, and blue, and Thomas, Morgana, and O had even been invited to enjoy the festivities, their cages and tank respectively decorated with ribbons and other knickknacks. Jane was lighting the menorah when he came into the room, and she smiled at him.

“We pretty much went all out. Hope you like.”

John turned from his place in his chair to smile warmly too and held out his arms. “Hey! C’mere, I made tea.”

Sherlock raised an eyebrow as he moved to John’s side. “Did you?”

John kept smiling when Sherlock leaned down on the arm of the chair and laced their fingers together. “Well, it’s not as good as yours, but I’m working on it.”

Silently, Sherlock watched him as John turned to ask Jane something about dinner. Over the past few months, John had been progressing at an impressive rate. He was making a fantastic witch and would sometimes even surprise Sherlock with his aptitude. John was particularly adept at learning the tricks and spells that made other people smile or laugh, those which endeared him to others as most things about him did. Not surprised by that bit, Sherlock could tell it was John’s true calling as a witch, though he hadn’t said anything about it.

“Merry… everything.” Loki entered the room, a glass of wine in his hand and laughed when Jane raced over to him. “You seem to have made due with every holiday tradition you could think of.”

“More fun that way,” she said and kissed him under the mistletoe that hung from the doorway.

“I’m surprised you can stand it,” Loki said, and it took Sherlock a moment to realize he was talking to him.

“What?”

“All of this.” He gave Jane a sideways glance. “Sherlock didn’t fare very well at the last solstice celebration to which we were invited.”

John could feel his master’s frustration and discomfort immediately. He tried to squeeze his hand and turned to look at Loki.  _Don’t do this._

“He kept talking about the mistakes everyone was making and how their spells, alters, and rites were all mismanaged. I couldn’t take him anywhere.”

“Oh, and I suppose it would have been so much easier if I’d just kept my mouth shut?”

“I’m only joking, Sherlock.”

“Of course. What else do you ever do?”

“We all know your strong suit isn’t relating to others.”

Sherlock’s voice became very flat. “Do we. Thank you for reminding me.” He stood and moved to walk out of the room, but Loki grabbed his arm as he tried to pass through the doorway.

“Put your weapons down,” Loki murmured and glanced up at the mistletoe.

“I’d say the same to you.” Shaking Loki’s hand from his arm, Sherlock stormed out.

Loki sighed and went to the fireplace, setting his glass down on the mantlepiece. “He’s sensitive about that. I sometimes forget.” He glanced at Jane. “I’ll apologize.”

“Don’t bother.” John stood and walked out as well, the sound of his footfalls letting them know that he went into the shop and not to immediately follow on Sherlock’s heels.

Jane turned back to face Loki again and shrugged. “Well. That was fun for a minute.”

He exhaled softly, barely a laugh. She recognized the regret immediately when she saw it.

“C’mere.” Holding out her hand to him, she smiled to let him know it would be okay. “We’ll try again tomorrow.”

Without hesitation, he moved to take her hand and press close to her once more.  _Why do I still feel like this when I’m close to him, even when we’ve been together a thousand times, even when he’s being an ass?_ She knew the answer of course. Jane Foster didn’t choose things that were easy to love; the stars, which had been her first and deepest love her whole life, were too far away for her to touch, to hold, but she strove to be closer to them with every ounce of strength in her. When he came near, even she had to admit that her orbit had begun to change.

 

 

John knew if he only gave his master space, he’d find him soon in the parlor with a cup of tea untouched and cooling on the table beside him. As he entered the room, he saw Sherlock’s pensive look and ached to be close to him, to make any unhappy memories of the past vanish so Sherlock would look at him like he did on those rare occasions where he was untroubled, happy, complete. He knew he could make him feel that way, had done it before and seen the proof, but everything always came rushing back no matter how hard John tried to protect their precious moments of happiness together.

“Sherlock?”

Green eyes flickered toward him, away, and down. John went to him and dropped to his knees in front of his chair.

“We don’t have to talk. We don’t have to do anything you don’t want. I just… I just want you to know I’m here. I’m not going anywhere. And I’ll wait as long as you need, be whatever you need. I want you to know I’m… yours.”

Sherlock stared back at John, his fingers tented just below his chin, and John saw his mouth open slightly, almost trembling.  _Don’t resist me_ , John thought, desperately open and wanting, his eyes still locked with Sherlock’s.  _Don’t resist this._

Sherlock reached down to touch John’s cheek and drew him forward into a hard, heated kiss that melted him the moment their lips touched. John gripped Sherlock’s hair and pulled him forward until they both tumbled to the floor in front of the fire. Their kisses turned to touches, and they began to take off one another’s clothing as John placed little kisses all over Sherlock’s skin. He was so content in the moment, his only thoughts those of love for his master, his Sherlock, his darling, a word he still sometimes used in his head despite Sherlock’s reaction to it before. The thoughts weren’t coherent, but there was no need for them to be. As he kissed him, John felt Sherlock’s body shudder, and his heart swelled.

“Press into me,” Sherlock whispered, his voice husky with emotion.

“R-Really?” Immediately nervous, John lowered his head, not knowing if he’d be any good. Sherlock raised his gaze by cupping his cheek and implored him again.

“Yes. Now.”

Another kiss later, they were on the floor again, Sherlock turning onto his stomach so John could press inside. Carefully, Sherlock showed John how he could take away any pain with his own magick like Sherlock had done for him so many times, and John entered him with a shiver. He listened to Sherlock’s moan of pleasure which he muffled into the rug and filled him with long, slow thrusts.

John wrapped his arms around Sherlock’s waist and tried to stay present, but Sherlock felt so good, he could barely think. He leaned down to brush a kiss across Sherlock’s cheek and murmured, “This is… Amazing. You’re amazing, Sherlock. You’re wonderful. You’re wonderful.”

Sherlock, biting down on his jaw, pressed back against John to feel him all the way inside and showed him with his hips how to move. He concentrated on their joining so he could ignore John’s beautiful words.

Panting hard, John moaned into Sherlock’s curls and ran a hand down to cup his long cock.

“You’re perfect. Sherlock. Sherrrlock. Ah.”

Another shudder wracked him, but Sherlock tried to ignore the words. It wasn’t until he closed them that he realized there were tears in his eyes.

John could barely last any longer and quickly thrust up into Sherlock, his legs and arms shaking. He came with an exhausted sigh and rested his head for a moment on Sherlock’s back to catch his breath. Running his hand over Sherlock’s cock again, he leaned up to kiss his neck and the spot behind his ear, his whispers hot and grateful.

“Ah, Sherlock. Sherlock.”

He felt his master come beneath him, the warm liquid spilling into his hand, and let out a satisfied groan.

“Thank you,” he murmured and didn’t have to say what for. They stayed like that for a few moments more before silently separating, dressing, and retiring to bed. In John’s arms that night, despite his exhaustion, his satisfaction, and the complete and utter ensorcellment he felt at having had John pressed deep inside him, whispering those wonderful words, Sherlock didn’t sleep a wink.

 

 

After they had made love and were lying in bed together, Jane took a deep breath and then another. She ran her fingers over Loki’s large hand and gave herself one more moment to breathe, to back out.  _That’s all you get._ When she still felt her courage pumping through her, like a drug corroding her veins, she spoke.

“Hey.”

“Hm.”

“Can we talk?”

Loki smiled lazily. “Always.”

She glanced down at the green sheets and toyed with backing out once more. No. Now.

“So… I… love you.” Turning to look up at him again, Jane waited for a response. Loki’s expression didn’t change at first, then his smile began to fade. He seemed to consider something for a moment, and when he met her gaze again, he let out a breathy laugh.

“Love.”

Jane tried to laugh too. It was a big deal after all. “Yeah. Heavy.”

“Mm.”

She paused, wondering if she’d rendered him speechless, but he didn’t really seem that way. He seemed to have deliberately chosen not to respond.

“‘Mm,’” she repeated. “Is that all you’re gonna say?”

“Jane… I just… Need to think of the proper response.”

“Really?” Her voice was suddenly higher, pained, one she didn’t recognize. “Because… The way I always saw it, there’s just one proper response.”

Loki nodded and glanced down at the bed the way she had.

She forced herself to say it. If she didn’t, no one would. “Do you… not?”

“Jane.”

“Don’t do that, okay? Don’t. Just tell me if you love me or not.” She curled her lower lip to bite down on it, hoping to stop the wavering sound her voice had taken on, but it didn’t do much to help. “It’s pretty simple, Loki.”

“I’m afraid it’s not.”

A silence passed between them before she echoed, “It’s not.”

Loki felt the words on the edge of his tongue but couldn’t form them. He wracked his brain for the way to say it, the way to make her understand, but he came up empty each time. And again, out of desperation, he laughed.

“Can you… Can you stop that?” Jane felt an icy hand close around her heart.

“I’m sorry, I just can’t… Ah…”

“You can’t love me?”

He looked at her, his eyes glazing over slightly. Finally, he shook his head. “No.”

She nodded, trying to looking accepting. When she spoke next, her voice was more stable but had taken on a deeper edge. “Why.”

“It’s complicated.”

“You can’t tell me.” It was her turn to laugh, but she couldn’t.  

“Jane. Let’s just go on the way we have.”

“With you not being able to love me.”

“It’s not that simple.”

“Then tell me  _why_.”

Again, he tried. And the words! The words! They would not come. He  _knew_ why, knew it had something to do with a night hundreds of years ago and words that were said out of anger and a broken glass and an awkward party, but when he tried to speak, nothing happened. And yet again, he laughed, this time the breathy sound barely above a whisper.

And that was all it took.

“Okay.” Jane sat up.

“Love––”

“No. Enough, I mean it. You can say the word, you’re capable. You can call me that when you’re inside me, but you’re not… you  _can’t_  love me.”

“It’s not like that.”

“I know. Right. It’s complicated.”

“Yes, but it… it doesn’t have to be like this.”

“It doesn’t have to be complicated?”

“…No.”

She became very quiet for a moment, and as she thought about it, she realized she didn’t need futuresight to know exactly what her life would be like if she listened to him.

“If I just stay by your side without you loving me, pretending I can even stand to look at you right now. If I just give up my whole life, all my plans, to follow you around and be your satellite when you can’t even tell me how you actually feel about me. If I just pretend that this didn’t happen, even though I know I’ll never be able to forget it, not for one single second.”

“Jane.” His voice was smooth, and he tried to touch her.

“Fuck off, Loki.” Her gaze told him she meant it, and as she stood, he felt panic set in.

“Jane.” This time when he said her name, his voice broke. She threw on the red dress she’d picked out specifically for tonight, shoes, and grabbed the leather bag she’d come to Sherlock’s place with all those months ago. Into it went only a handful of important items, including her dog-eared copy of  _Cosmos_ , and she reached for her cloak.

In the time it took for her to gather her things, Loki scrambled to his feet, threw on a pair of sweatpants, and moved to her, taking her arm. She was distinctly reminded of the way he’d touched Sherlock earlier that night, and for a moment, she truly wanted to hate him.

“Jane, don’t do this. Don’t. Sleep on it.”

“No.” She shook her head. “When it’s not right, you know, don’t you? At least one of us does anyway.” She pulled her arm out of his grasp and fixed him with a glare. “I was an idiot. And you’re a fucking coward.”

_You pathetic coward_ , Sherlock had said him the night they’d broken up. Loki shuddered.

“Jane.”

Turning back to him, he saw her eyes flash red. “Don’t. Say my name again, and I’ll cut out your tongue.”

He fell silent and remembered the Jane in his dream, the Jane he hadn’t recognized until this very moment. She groaned and her eyes welled with tears. He ached to hold her, but he knew it was too late, much too late.

“You can’t love me, fine. Watch me leave instead.”

She turned to walk out the door, and he did. He was rooted to the spot, but whether it was out of fear or pain, he didn’t know.

When Jane opened the door to the shop, she saw the snow-covered campus of her college, and immediately, she knew that Sherlock had given her an out to exactly where she needed to be. _Were you listening?_ she wanted to ask. Then a darker thought,  _Are you happy now?_

Her vision blinded by tears, she stepped out but instead of going back to the school, she made a sharp fork toward the highway. As she walked and her eyes stung, she realized she could still recall just how good his arms had felt around her only minutes ago. And with the help of the frosty night, she numbed that memory until it felt just as cold as she did.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “He tried hard to help me, you know.  
> He put me at ease,  
> And he loved me so naughty  
> Made me weak in the knees.  
> Oh, I wish I had a river  
> I could skate away on.  
> I’m so hard to handle.  
> I’m selfish, and I’m sad.  
> Now, I’ve gone and lost the best baby  
> That I ever had.  
> Oh, I wish I had river  
> I could skate away on.  
> I wish I had a river so long,  
> I would teach my feet to fly.  
> Oh, I wish I had a river  
> I could skate away on.  
> I made my baby say goodbye.”  
> -“River” by Joni Mitchell


	16. In Which All That Was Meant to Happen Does

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “Give me hope in silence.  
> It’s easier, it’s kinder.  
> Tell me not of heartbreak.  
> It breaks my soul, it breaks my soul.  
> We will meet back on this road,  
> Nothing gaining, truth be told.  
> But I am not the enemy.  
> It isn’t me, the enemy.”

“And she left.” As he sat in his chair by the fire, Sherlock said the words as if they were a question, but there was no question in his voice.

“She did.” Loki’s cup of tea had grown cold beside him. He hadn’t touched it, nor had he reached for his pipe. He had already consumed quite a bit of the wine Sherlock made himself as a sort of hobby, and Sherlock was timing his breaths. They weren’t so far apart that he could not enjoy the glass currently in his hand.

“And you don’t know where she is.”

“No, I don’t know where she is.” Loki glared over the glass this time. “Stop asking questions that you’re not really asking.”

“You could, of course, do a locator spell.”

“Of course, but why bother? What else am I going to say?”

Sherlock was quiet for a moment, his fingertips resting on the arm of his chair. Finally, he looked up and noticed the way Loki had folded into himself. Drunk and gently swaying, he looked like a note that had been crumpled up and forgotten in a desk drawer.

“Did you want to say it?”

“Even if I had… I couldn’t.”

“Couldn’t lie?”

“Couldn’t  _say_  the words. I couldn’t even  _think_  them. I kept opening my mouth and nothing would come out. So I… I laughed and then…” He shrugged, his shoulders barely holding themselves up. “I should’ve known better.”

“Than to get yourself involved with another apprentice whose power greatly exceeded your own? I agree.”

“To have doubted you and your curse.” Loki stared across the room at Sherlock who suddenly became very quiet. “You were angry as Hel fire that night. Vengeance rolled off you. I should’ve known better than to doubt that you would be capable of any spell, especially when you were as angry as you were.”

“Clearly.” Sherlock’s throat sounded like it was full of rocks. He stared into the fireplace and swallowed. “And you. You’ll go now, I suppose.”

Loki laughed. “You want me gone so soon after a heartbreak?”

“Your heart isn’t broken; you don’t love her.”

Nodding softly and bringing the glass again to his lips, he whispered, “I  _can’t_  love her.”

Sherlock felt the sting of those words all the way down to the soles of his feet. He gritted his teeth until the feeling passed.

“And you would have, then?” he asked. “If it weren’t for my curse?”

Another half-hearted shrug was his answer. “Well, we’ll never know, will we?”

 

 

John missed Jane. It was nice having someone else around who would roll her eyes when Loki and Sherlock were being butts, and he missed the way she always talked to him even though she didn’t have to. She made things around the shop feel normal, and he knew he would always remember fondly the birthday party she threw for him. In a way, though, he was angry at her for not even wanting to say goodbye.

He wasn’t an idiot, and he felt the way her spirit lingered in the shop. She had left very angry herself, and he thought he knew why. Loki had fucked up somehow, that he was sure of, but the whole thing gave him the slightest bit of perspective on his relationship. For one, he didn’t want to cause any problems between him and Sherlock. He was a bit nervous that the issue was catching, so when Sherlock and Loki locked themselves into the parlor, John didn’t complain, and at night when he and Sherlock went to bed together, John always showed him with his body, his mouth, and his hands how much he wanted his master still. Exhausted afterward, he would sleep, but not until he’d watched Sherlock’s eyes close. It was fast becoming his favorite time of day, those moments before sleep where he would see Sherlock’s brilliant mind wind down for a few hours and he could lie close to him, feeling his energy and his body as he finally drifted off himself.

As he had more time to spend alone, John practiced his skills and tried not to feel jealous.  _The last thing I want to do is lose him, now that I’ve found him_ , he thought. He’d become fairly proficient at slight of hand, and sometimes, he’d perform tricks for Sherlock. He didn’t see Loki much, but from what he could glean, it seemed like he spent his time drinking too much and mooning over Jane. Even though he was certain the whole thing was Loki’s fault beyond a shadow of a doubt, John couldn’t help himself from feeling a little bit bad for the old witch. Still, he told himself (because he couldn’t tell Loki),  _You had your chance, mate, and it looks like you blew it. Can’t blame anyone but yourself._

 

 

A few nights after Jane left, Loki decided to resume his pattern just as Sherlock predicted. He packed his important things and left the ones he didn’t need in his green room. When they met in the parlor as he prepared to leave, Sherlock asked him if he’d need anything for his journey.

“A kindness now from the great Sherlock Holmes? I must be dreaming.” Loki teased, but his heart wasn’t in it.

“I’ve hosted you for this long, I might as well continue to abide by the code.” Sherlock looked him over and tried not to sigh. He lifted his head. “Where will you go?”

“Peru, I think. Do you care?”

“I don’t.”

Loki laughed and looked down at his feet. “That sounds like more of a fitting end to my time in  _la guarida del dragón_.”

“You’ll never let that go, will you? You treat me like a child.”

“You were when I found you. I know you aren’t now, but… We did spend hundreds of years together. In love.” Absently, he pulled his lower lip in between his teeth and then released it. “And I suppose, we’ll spend the rest of our lives that way. Whether we like it or not.”

Sherlock’s bones felt like paper. He thought of John and had to bite down on his jaw to keep from shuddering.

“Oh, come now. He’s strong. Perhaps he won’t even mind when you tell him. If you tell him. If you can figure out some way to tell him.”

Unable to watch him looking like that any longer, Loki reached out and touched Sherlock’s cheek. His hands were ice cold. Sherlock remembered a time when he had loved that, but now, it was overwhelming.

“I’ll see you soon,  _mi dragón_. I know better now than to stay away.” He was very quiet before adding, “In some ways… I truly do hope he is still here when I return. For your sake. Perhaps for both our sakes.” He turned and left Sherlock who felt the way he always did when he watched Loki go: like a boy chasing after a ghost, swearing he had just  _been_  there only a moment ago.

 

 

John was careful as he approached Sherlock’s bedroom that night. He knew Loki was gone, but he didn’t want to do or say the wrong thing to make his master upset. Finally, it would be just the two of them again like it had at the beginning, and though John had been waiting for this moment for months, he knew Sherlock might possibly be in a sour mood. He knocked on the door and pushed it open the slightest bit.

“Sherlock…?”

He didn’t know how to describe the twisting feeling in his chest when he saw Sherlock curled up at the end of his large bed, crying. For a moment, John stood in the doorway, rooted to the spot. He swallowed hard and wanted to rush to his side, to tell him it was going to be all right. But instead he asked himself what Sherlock truly needed, and he immediately knew.

Walking quietly to his side, John climbed up onto the bed and wrapped his arms around Sherlock’s shoulders. His master was leaning forward, wracked with sobs, and John merely pulled him close, his mouth resting on top of Sherlock’s curls.

_I’m here_ , he thought.  _It’s all right. It’ll be all right._

He said nothing though because he knew words would shatter the moment. And for several hours, he held Sherlock like that, saying nothing yet giving him everything. He didn’t know why, but he felt like it was all part of a greater picture, one he wasn’t able to step back from and see the whole of.  _He’ll tell me one day_ , he thought with a smile and continued to hold his lover close.

 

 

The next morning, Sherlock woke and immediately shut himself up inside his laboratory. He stood at the old, oak table for almost an hour with his head in his hands and told himself over and over that it was the right course of action, the only course of action. That John deserved to escape the curse with which Sherlock seemed to saddle every one of the people who had tried to love him.

Yes, now he couldn’t deny the truth of things. He and Loki were chained together by the words of a foolish boy whose heart had been broken centuries ago. Those words, like creeping vines, had only continued to hurt others beyond the two of them, and if he did not act fast, they would merely spill more blood. But of course, he had known this all along, seeing but not observing, perceiving but refusing to act.

John was the man in Sherlock’s vision from so long ago, the one that had hurt Loki though he’d never liked to admit it. Sherlock had felt just as safe in John’s arms as he had in that vision, and there was no longer room for denial or ignorance. For any of them.

“Except for you,” Sherlock said softly in his laboratory, and John stirred in his sleep. “If I was a child when he found me, so then were you when you came to me.” He touched the wood table again and his tools began to move toward him: spellbook, cauldron, ingredients.

_I won’t break his heart_ , he told himself. It was almost a comfort, nearly allowing him to ignore the simple fact that his own heart might not withstand what he was going to do.

_But I don’t love him,_ can’t _love him. There’s no other answer. When you’ve eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth. And we aren’t allowed to choose what is true. Only how we shall face it._

It took less than thirty minutes to make the potion.

 

 

As usual, John found Sherlock in the parlor. He looked fresh, and even John had to remind himself that Sherlock had been crying all night, as he didn’t reflect it at all.

“Hey,” John said carefully.

“Good morning.” Sherlock’s voice was even and calm, yet it still tugged at John’s heart. He couldn’t help the fact that he was trapped in this man’s orbit if he tried. Sherlock made him so happy, and though it wasn’t always easy, John wanted to wake up to that voice, that face, every day for the rest of his life, no matter how long that would now be.

Ah, to be eighteen and in love.

“I poured you a cup,” Sherlock said, gesturing toward the tea sitting just beside him.

John smiled and moved toward him. “Thank you.” He leaned down and put his hands on the arms of Sherlock’s chair so he could kiss him. The kiss didn’t feel different at all: ordinary and everyday, like any of the times before.

“Don’t you want it?” Sherlock asked.

“I do. But I want you too.” John had already decided not to bring up what had happened last night, although he wanted desperately to talk about it. He didn’t even read Sherlock’s mind and just let it all be.  _One day maybe you’ll tell me, but I just want you to know I’m here. No questions. Just yours._

He thought he saw Sherlock’s fingers flex in his lap, the slightest twitch.

“Everything all right?” John asked, again with the carefullest of voices. He still meant to stick with his decision not to bother Sherlock about last night, but he wanted confirmation at least that the decision was the right one.

“Everything is fine,” Sherlock said.

And John believed him. Though he wanted to climb into his master’s lap and do a million things (tell him he loved him, reassure him, pull him close and kiss him until they were both gasping, ride his cock until everything else melted away and they came again and again), he merely brushed his lips against Sherlock’s once more and then reached for his teacup, still in midkiss. He laughed softly against Sherlock’s mouth and finally released him before sipping some of the tea. It tasted different.

“Sher…Sherlock?”

The room spun and suddenly John was on the floor. Sherlock was beside him in an instant, cradling his cheek and whispering words John didn’t understand. His master’s face and name faded in and out in front of him, and he reached for Sherlock’s arm, unable to speak.

“Goodbye, John,” Sherlock whispered, and before John could try and form a word of response, he was gone and Sherlock was left alone in his parlor, holding the air.

Sherlock took a moment to compose himself, letting go of the space where John had been and brushing his trembling fingers through his hair. Then he sat on the carpet for a long while, attempting to remind himself that what he’d done was for the best for John, trying to ignore the fact that he’d never felt so lonely, not even that night all those centuries ago in the rainstorm.

_You’ll be better off_ , he thought softly, although he almost didn’t believe it, whether it was directed at John or himself.

He already knew his apprentice was far from here, his mind on his sister’s birthday and what he should get her. The shop John had been looking at was suddenly an empty building with its windows boarded shut, and with a small shake of his head, John continued onward in his search.

He would not remember the shop where he’d broken the vase or the beautiful bird and the other animals who lived there. He would not remember tasting his first cup of peppermint tea or celebrating his eighteenth birthday or losing his virginity. He would not remember his master’s laugh or voice or face, and he certainly wouldn’t know his name if they were to pass one another on the street, not that Sherlock would ever allow that to happen.

And he would be shocked to return home to find he had been gone for almost an entire year.

The one thing Sherlock left him with was the memory of his magick and the ways in which he had learned to use it. To Sherlock, taking away those gifts was more than criminal, as John was so adept at using his magick to make others happy.

He would soon chalk up his missing year to the magick, though he wouldn’t tell his family this. He would think it strange that he couldn’t remember how he’d learned to use it, and after a handful of decades, he would convince himself that he had cultivated his powers at a much younger age on his own and had never told anyone. Time would pass and he would live on, young and handsome as his magick allowed him to do, something he’d learned the trick of diligently but would never be able to remember how.

And Sherlock would not see him again.

Well. Not any time soon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “But I came and I was nothing,  
> And time will give us nothing.  
> So why did you choose to lean on  
> A man you knew was falling?”  
> -“The Enemy” by Mumford and Sons


	17. In Which We Resume Our Tale of Woe... Three Hundred Years in the Future

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “Time  
> Time is money, bastard.   
> And hope  
> Is all that you can steal.   
> And time  
> Is happy ever after.   
> With Jesus, Jesus,   
> Jesus, Jesus at the wheel.”

Sometimes, Sherlock thought that, no matter how much time passed, nothing really ever changed, not permanently. Oh, of course, the world spun on, and little aspects were altered in their own stages, but there was nothing truly different, century in and century out. Any changes that did occur had happened before and would subside like waves, through and through. Sherlock knew this like he knew being an old witch was only something he felt behind his eyes and in his mind.

Lately, that which he concerned himself with was certainly different in some ways, although he didn’t like to admit it. But here, almost three hundred years after he had sent John away, in his shop with the bell on the door and the animals all sleeping soundly, he didn’t feel time pass the way others did. Obviously, it may have also had something to do with the fact that he was over a thousand years old now and that he’d had the same job for over half that time and that, every so often, Loki still came by to drink his wine and complain all over him.

But to Sherlock, time meant nothing. Wounds did not heal. People did not change. His world, as he saw it, abided.

It was all rather boring, really. But therein lay the simple fact that Sherlock had forgotten: change does occur and time does march on. And whether it takes you by surprise all depends on your perspective. And your ability to observe the shifts of the earth.

“Another cup?”

“I shouldn’t. Though it’s nice to see you being so hospitable.”

“Well, I figure I’ve tried being uninviting and hostile and you still show up here, time after time, drink me out of house and home, and then wail about the past until I finally put you to bed. I must entertain the idea that pleasantness might possibly send you packing.” Sherlock lifted his teacup to his lips, took a long sip, and murmured, “Is it working?”

Loki laughed and eased back into the chair across from Sherlock’s. To Sherlock now, that chair belonged to no one.

“Now, now. I’ve yet to even break into the wine.”

“But you’re thinking about it.” After a moment, he added, “You never stop thinking about it.”

“Can we put my addictions aside for now and focus on yours? I’ve seen more things in the shop than ever before. It’s starting to look like an episode of that hoarders show.”

“There is power in possessions.”

“I know. But don’t you think you’ve been working hard enough amassing your power recently?” Loki waved the hand that wasn’t holding his cup, and Sherlock noticed how it shook. “Give it a rest. You could take a break, go somewhere.”

“I saw plenty of the world when I was with you.” Sherlock stood and went to the bookshelf, grabbing the bottle of wine he’d made just recently in preparation for Loki’s visit. “I’ve no desire to see it all again.”

“It’s changing,” murmured Loki.

“And it will change back.”

“So it will.” He sipped the last of his tea, closed his eyes, and held out the cup for Sherlock to fill with wine. “But another Dark Age is on its way, I think. I’d suggest you see the light while you still can.”

“Becoming a doomsayer now, are you? It doesn’t suit you.”

“Doesn’t it?” Loki shrugged. “Well, perhaps, I’m wrong.”

“You aren’t wrong.” Sherlock sat back down and poured himself tea. “Something’s coming. And she––”

“Don’t. I can’t talk about her.”

“She’s in the thick of it. You know that.” They hadn’t spoken about her in a long time, but Sherlock was tired of skirting the issue. He sighed and looked into Loki’s bleary eyes. “She’s always been stronger than you, but now, her power may be greater than my own.”

“And look what she’s used it for.” Loki gulped the wine like it was water and leaned forward to pour himself another cup. “I suppose that might have something to do with why you’re amassing powerful objects though.”

In an even voice, Sherlock responded, “I suppose it might.”

Loki hissed after swallowing another mouthful of wine. “What about him, hm? We have to know where she is and what she does every day. Do you know what he’s been up to these past three centuries?”

Just as evenly as before, Sherlock said, “I don’t.” But Loki had known him a long time, a  _very_ long time, and he knew the smoothness of his tone was carefully controlled with every power Sherlock possessed. And still, his lips tightened, betraying the truth.

“Mhm” was all Loki said in response, opting instead to reach for the bottle and pour himself more.

 

 

Though John had been alive for what he  _considered_  to be a very long time, he had never once met another person like himself, one who truly knew the ways of wielding magick. On a handful of occasions, he thought he had, but he’d always been let down when he realized what he did was very different from what they did. Those disappointments, coupled with the one relationship he’d had in which he’d watched his wife age while he’d stayed young, mostly caused him to keep to himself. However, this did not mean he couldn’t benefit from what he knew.

John enjoyed making people happy, and that fact along with his magickal gifts made the profession of magician seem like quite an obvious one for him. He hadn’t arrived upon it until almost a hundred and fifty years into his long life, but the timing was perfect, as people were again becoming fascinated with the concept of “true” magick, or a trick that could not be fabricated with the help of technological advances. John did all the old favorites: rabbits from hats, the Disappearing Man, and of course, the Reappearing Man. He also allowed audience members up onto his stage to see for themselves that there was no trick involved, just pure magick. He was quite beloved for decades until he vanished, reappearing again ten years later as his own son. Both times, he went by the stage name The Phantom.

The performances paid John’s bills, but they also allowed him a closeness with others that would not come with consequences down the line. Though he wanted desperately to connect with someone, he remembered clearly the way his wife Mary had become venomous and hateful over the years, wondering why she’d aged and he hadn’t. He never asked himself why he did not keep her young as he’d done for himself.

The truth was, of course, that she was an attempt at normalcy, at a life with someone so he could forget the nagging feeling he could never shake. That he was alone, and more troubling, that someone had wanted him that way.

His life was rather fulfilling though, if not lonely. The applause from his adoring audiences lessened his loneliness, but sometimes, it overwhelmed him, especially at night. And sometimes, he had dreams: of holding someone, of being held, of being so completely in love that it shook him to his very core and made leave his flat and walk the streets for hours. He was aware enough to know he was searching, and on some nights, he would charm someone into letting him follow them home, but he never found what he was really looking for.

It was on one of those such nights, as a London autumn turned into a London winter, that he noticed a strange shop on his travels that he’d never seen before, one where the light was on at almost two in the morning and where a streetlight overhead illuminated the words on the sign: SHERLOCK’S.

John felt a pull that he didn’t recognize and smiled a little to himself.  _It feels… Feels like magick._ Though different from his own, it definitely felt like magickal energy pulsed from inside the shop’s little walls. He hesitated only for a moment and then looked up. It was starting to snow. Deciding it was better than being outside in the cold, John opened the door and stepped in.

For without realizing it, Sherlock had betrayed himself. He had done everything he could to avoid John’s finding the shop again, but as he had imbued his home long ago with the power to call to all people who were looking for something, John found it eventually.

And as previously stated, John had been looking for something for an  _actual_  very long time.

 

 

Sherlock heard the bell and moved to stand. With a laugh that crackled in the back of his throat, Loki said, “Burning the midnight oil. Are you really that afraid of her?”

Turning back to glare icily at the remains of his former mentor, Sherlock asked, “Are you not?” He walked into the hall and out to his shop. And immediately, he froze there as he stared at the boy he hadn’t been able to love so instead he’d sent away, the boy who was now a man with his coat collar turned up against the cold night air and the barest wisps of snow clinging to his hair.

It was slightly spiked, John’s hair, something that seemed to Sherlock oddly showy, but he could barely focus on it before his eyes fell to John’s face. The man he’d become was handsome and still as young-looking and fresh as before; the only thing that gave his age away was the way he carried himself and the way he observed the objects around him with less wonder and more calm interest. Sherlock, unable to delude himself into thinking it might be a dream, just stood staring at his former apprentice and felt an ache spread across his body, leaving him cold.

Finally, John looked up and noticed him there, a smile spreading pleasantly across his face.

“Evening. I, uh… I saw the light was on, and I thought you might be open.” He looked around again, his mind clearly puzzling it out behind his polite exterior. “What exactly do you sell?”

Sherlock managed to swallow the lump in his throat and speak, though the words came out slower than he would have liked. “We’re closed now. You need to go.”

“Oh. I thought… I guess I saw the light, and I…” John’s eyes moved to the bookshelf where they landed on a book he’d pored over for weeks while Sherlock had trained him. This time, Sherlock did hold his breath.

“That book. I know that book…” John raised his eyebrows and stepped closer to the shelf. “God, look at… Crystals. You’ve got––And these ingredients… This is a magick shop!” John turned to look at Sherlock and grinned. “I’ve been in them before, but it’s never been like this.”

“We’re closed,” Sherlock tried to say, but John was already drowning him out.

“They always want to sell you prepackaged decks of tarot cards with  _Twilight_ characters on them and crystal balls that don’t work, but this––this place is  _real_. And you!” John stepped closer to him and sighed, taking in the feel of his energy which flowed off of him in waves. This was the magick he felt from outside. “You’re a real witch.”

“Please––”

“Oh no, please wait! I know you’re closed, I know, but I’ve never met anyone like me before, anyone who could really do what I do, and I-I can’t leave now. Look!” John held out his hand and performed one of his favorite simple spells. As his hand became enveloped in his own blue magick, he drew it toward his palm and froze it there into a small ball of ice. Tossing it up in the air and laughing, he looked up at Sherlock and held it out to him. “See?”

Remembering the first time John performed that skill, Sherlock merely stared at the ice until it became too cold in John’s hand and he awkwardly put it aside into a bowl on a table beside Sherlock.

“Uh… Can I… Can I see yours?”

Sherlock said nothing, his fear quieting just at the wonder of seeing John again, so grown and still so much like his younger self after becoming excited to meet another real witch. Sherlock held out his hand and just let his purple magick rise to the surface.

“Ah!” John laughed and shook his head. “That’s brilliant. I, uh, like the color.”

It took all Sherlock’s strength just to nod.

“Look, I understand that it’s late, but… I can’t believe this. Would you mind just talking to me or something? I’ll buy something, I just… I can’t believe it.”

Sherlock paused, possibly weighing his options, but he wasn’t really even conscious enough of his own thoughts to be certain. It was, of course, the perfect time for Loki to come stumbling drunkenly into the room.

“When you’re done with your customer,  _dragón_ , you might have the decency to fetch another bottle of hooch for the parlor. I did travel far and wide before crawling back here, as you well remember.” His eyes then fell on John, and he blinked them several times as if he didn’t believe what he was seeing.

“Oh, gods.”

Sherlock set his jaw as his eyes slowly closed and said nothing.

“He’s back.” Loki glanced at Sherlock. “Maybe you’re not as powerful as you think.”

John blinked. “What, back? No, no this is my first time here. I’m, uh, John.” He paused as he stared at Loki and then let out a breathless laugh. “Jesus, are you a witch too?”

“Oh, GODS! This is truly one of the more twisted things I’ve seen.”

“Shut up,” Sherlock finally managed to hiss.

“Not the most twisted but absolutely of a marvelous contortion. Shall we invite him to drink with us?”

“No.” Sherlock looked at John again finally, and John was surprised to see a coldness in the other man’s eyes. “We’re closed.”

“Please!” John stepped forward and held up his hands. His heart was pounding, and he wasn’t going down without a fight. “I’ve spent a really long time thinking I might just be the only one, and now that I know I’m not, I can’t just go! I’m sorry if I’ve barged in on something and…I’m not sure how you know me. If you’ve seen my shows and don’t like them, I’m sorry. It’s just a way of paying the rent. But I can’t believe I’m finally meeting people like me, and I have to stay and talk to you. I’ve been alone for such a long time, and I can’t just  _go_!”

He turned to look into Sherlock’s eyes again, and the ice melted away when he said, “Please don’t send me away.”

Sherlock stayed very quiet until John extended his hand and said in a confident, clear voice, “I’m John Watson.”

Taking John’s hand, Sherlock murmured his own name and waited for a spark of recognition. They shook hands, John smiled, and there was none.

“And I’m Loki. But you don’t care about that.” Under his breath, he added, “You never did.”

“Can I… Um, may I join you?” John asked. “Are you working on a spell? Could I watch?”

Sherlock felt like he was underwater when he looked at John. The memory of their first night together was still clear as ever despite the time that had passed, and he remembered feeling like he’d actually surfaced that night from the deep mire in which he’d been entrenched during all those years of missing and hating Loki. However, he realized since then he hadn’t come up for air in a while, and he only felt more deeply submerged every time he opened his mouth to speak.

“We’re having tea. You can join us in the parlor.”

The smile that spread across John’s face was too much for Sherlock suddenly, like staring into the sun. His body trembled before he could stop it.

Loki, leaning against one of the bookshelves now as he could barely hold himself up, laughed, and tilted his head back, “A good old fashioned reunion. That’s what we need.”

The moment he said it, the door blew open, snow and wind swirling into the shop and making the three men step back in surprise. Stepping inside, the woman in the doorway lowered the hood of her red cloak.

“Oh, I agree,” Jane said. “A reunion is definitely in order.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “And you   
> Are so beautiful  
> That I will drink my fill,   
> More pure   
> And more suitable  
> Than any pint of poison   
> I could guzzle   
> Or spill.”   
> -“Time is Money” by Placebo


	18. In Which the Stage is Set for a Power Play

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “Shade begins to steal the light.  
> Confusion throws another mystery.  
> It’s out of focus with the eye.  
> So now you wonder is this just a dream.  
> Here she comes, here she comes!”

John thought the woman who’d just burst through the door was probably the most beautiful one he’d ever seen. She looked young but he could immediately tell she wasn’t, and while everything about her was absolutely flawless, she had a rather hard-looking mouth that gave John pause. Eventually, though, it was the reaction of the other two men in the room that made him truly nervous.

Sherlock, whom John had just met but could already tell was brilliant, stepped forward in front of him as if to shield John from the girl’s presence. And the other man (as John really hadn’t been paying much attention when he’d said his name)… Well, his eyes widened considerably, and his whole body seemed to stiffen like a board as he tried not to back away.

“What are you doing here?” Sherlock asked the woman at the door.

“Jeeze, can’t an old friend come by to say hi?” Her head tilted to the side, and her red robe rustled at her feet. “You’re fine with all the boys visiting. But then again, you’ve never been good at dealing with women, have you, Sherlock?”

“This place does not have what you need. You shouldn’t have come.”

“You mean I shouldn’t have been able to find it.” Jane laughed. “You still think you’re the most powerful force in all the universe, don’t you? That no one can find your little shop unless you say so. It doesn’t always work that way. And I guess you could say, in a way, that I need something.”  

“Even if what you needed were here, what makes you think I’d be willing to give it?”

“Because I don’t  _need_  you to give me anything. I get exactly what I want now. Without anyone’s help.” She noticed John looking over Sherlock’s shoulder and laughed again. “And why don’t you stop shielding him like he’s some kid? We’re all far past that now.”

John opened his mouth to ask, to finally ask how everyone seemed to know him and why he didn’t know any of them, when he realized it would probably be much safer to just stay silent.

Jane’s voice took on a darker edge when she spoke next. “We’re not children, Sherlock.”

“I know that.”

“Then you’ll know I’m here with an important message.”

“I’m not interested.”

“You should be. He doesn’t really like it when people don’t give him the time of day.”

“I’ve been doing it for centuries; I’m not afraid.”

“Again, you should be. You yourself said something’s coming. Remember that?”

Sherlock bared his teeth the smallest bit. John could barely see over his sleeve.

“Or maybe you were just trying to placate the drunk.” She threw a short glance at Loki. “Either way, you were right. Something’s coming.  _He_ ’s coming.”

“He wants everything. No one ever taught him not to reach too high.”

“There’s no ‘too high’ for witches like us, Sherlock. For some…” Another look in Loki’s direction. “But not to us.”

“Grief is a strong elixir, isn’t it?” Sherlock’s voice rolled over the room, deep and somnolent. “Pain and loss and heartbreak. If you let it, it will absolutely ruin you, witch or no.”

Jane brought her lips back together and glared into Sherlock. Though he wasn’t the strongest witch in the room, John could feel the red waves rolling under her skin and he shuddered. Something about her magick scared him. It was tinted white.

“Jane.” This time the voice was Loki’s, and it was placating and soft. It sounded like the way someone would talk to an insecure bride, covering herself from her husband’s eyes on their wedding night. “Why don’t you give this a rest and relax for a minute. Have a drink.”

She turned her gaze on him again, and he opened his mouth to continue speaking.

“I know you feel––”

Like lightening, her hand shot out and Loki’s mouth snapped shut. He seemed to try and open it again, but the skin of his lips merely puckered, as if they were glued shut.

“Why don’t you try listening for a while?” she said. “You might learn something.”

“Jane.”

She turned back to Sherlock, and even John could see her cool facade was slipping just the slightest bit. “You came to deliver a message so deliver it. Then go.”

She exhaled and shook her head softly. “It doesn’t work like that, Sherlock. He wants to see you, that means he sees you. You don’t get a choice in the matter.”

“Did you?”

Jane pursed her lips and lifted her head. “He’s taught me more than either of you ever did.”

Sherlock nodded. “Clearly.”

“I’m not asking. I’m telling. He’s in his club in Los Angeles now, and he wants to see you there.”

“And what makes you think I’ll go there?”

“Because you already are.”

It only took Sherlock a few moments to realize she’d tricked him, but those moments were enough. Instead of standing in his shop, the comforts of home around him, he, Jane, Loki, and John were suddenly drowning in a sea of people sweating and pulsing to a beat below the floor, their bodies clad in leather and their hands reaching endlessly for one another. The room was bathed in an impossible blue light, one that made Sherlock shiver, and he involuntarily moved closer to John to make sure he was still there.

“Jesus,” John breathed. “What is this place?”

No one should have been able to hear him over the music, but Jane turned to look at him and smiled.

“Club Désir. Best place to be when you’re tired of feeling lonely.” John noticed the way her expression changed only seconds before he heard her voice in his head.

_And you are, aren’t you, John?_

John only managed to cover his look of fear and confusion after Jane had already turned away. Though he obviously didn’t know him well, John could tell how angry Sherlock was at having been brought here, but he followed Jane into the room all the same. John and Loki did as well, both silently (but for different reasons of course).

Jane brought them to a small corner of the nightclub where a man in a gray suit was sitting with a leather draped man and woman on either side of him. Sherlock held out a hand to shield John again, and instead of getting angry, John felt safe. He turned to gaze up at Sherlock’s stony face and wondered why he felt so forcibly drawn to him. As a result, he missed what was said by the man on the couch.

“The great Sherlock Holmes. You’re a difficult man to track down. But not  _too_  difficult as you can plainly see. And in truth, I’ve only waited this long to make sure the timing was right. I  _love_  to make an entrance.”

John looked at the man who was smallish and slight but whose smile was one of the biggest and most unnatural that John had ever seen. He had dark hair and dark eyes, but his magick… His magick was white. The hair raised on the back of John’s neck.

“So we’ve seen.” Sherlock was cool, his eyes fixed on the man, but John somehow knew he was afraid.

_Why do I know you so well when I’ve never seen you before in my life?_  he thought.

“Then, you already know what I want.”

“You needn’t have brought me here to tell me that.”

“Sure, but again, I do love an entrance.” The man’s head suddenly tilted softly, a serpentine sway to the movement of his neck. “You ought to say yes to me now, Sherlock. I’ve been hiding in your dreams for far too long. And it’s time for a change. The world needs to see what we can do.”

“I’m not interested.”

The man pouted, throwing his arms out with the petulance of a child. “Now, don’t say  _THAT_. First, I bait you, promise you the moon, and  _then_ you tell me you’re not interested. So I threaten to murder your friends and former lovers, you leave in a fearful rage, and I continue to hound you, eventually ripping you apart from the inside and dragging you into my arms as you bleed and sputter and I laugh and tease that this all was meant to pass, and you become my weapon anyway. You need to respect the  _game_ , Sherlock.”

“I’m leaving.”

The man sighed and leaned back against the couch. “What am I going to do with you, honey? You’re a tragedy.”

As Sherlock turned away, the man called out to him once more.

“At least tell me I’ll never get you onto my side and that you’ll always vow to protect the innocent and that you aren’t scared of the likes of me. C’mon, I’m  _dying_ for it!”

Sherlock turned to look at him over his cloaked shoulder. “I know. But I’m not in the habit of giving in to men like you.”

“You will. You nearly have before.”

In that moment, Sherlock turned white.

“Oh, yes,” whispered the man on the couch. “I was there. Both times. When despair filled your heart until it was dripping and heavy. You may not be able to love, Sherlock, but my,  _my_  how your poor heart can break.”

Sherlock disappeared into the crowd then, and Loki and John followed after him as quickly as they could. Getting lost temporarily in the bodies that pressed against him, John felt limbs sweep across his skin and heard voices whispering promises that had him half-hard with wanting. Finally, he concentrated and found Sherlock’s magick in the room. Once he’d located him, he moved quickly to the spot and saw him arguing with the still mute Loki.

“I can’t lift the spell. She has to lift it.”

Loki glared.

“It isn’t my fault that after all this time, you still haven’t learned to keep your mouth shut.”

Loki communicated with him silently once more, and Sherlock sighed.

“I didn’t ever give in to him. It was after you, and after…” He looked briefly at John and then away. “I wanted to feel nothing. I reached out to him unconsciously, and as soon as I realized, I… Stopped.” He paused again for Loki’s response and closed his eyes. “No, I don’t think so.”

“Who is he?” John called over the music.

Sherlock hesitated before giving him his answer. “Jim Moriarty. He’s a feeder, a witch who subsists on manipulation and pain.”

“And he’s powerful?”

“He is. But he is much more so now that he has Jane. He deals in black magick.”

John’s eyebrows pressed together in confusion. “But his magick is white.”

Sherlock turned to Loki. “We need to leave.”

Loki thought something John couldn’t hear and walked back into the crowd. Sherlock watched him go, and John saw something in his eyes then that he didn’t necessarily want to see. An ache. An open wound.

“Sherlock?” When John had his attention again, he spoke. “Can you explain what’s going on to me? I told you, this is the first time I’ve actually met other witches.” John paused and reached out to take Sherlock’s hand. His skin was cool, but it made John feel warmer somehow. “Please.”

Throwing another glance at the crowd and then turning back to John, Sherlock nodded. “Yes. Let’s go.”

And with no one to keep them any longer, Sherlock took John out of the nightclub and down an alleyway that miraculously led to the shop, still holding onto John’s hand the entire time.

 

 

 

John and Sherlock had been alone in the shop, sitting in front of the fireplace each with their cup of tea, for about fifteen minutes before Sherlock finally began to talk. John wasn’t sure why he was so reluctant, and all Sherlock could think about was how long it had been since he and John had shared this familiar position.

“As far as I can tell, Moriarty wants things to change, wants to create a shift in the universe that will work ultimately in his favor. It’s why he’s drawn in Jane, and it’s why he wants me.”

“And…” said John, who’d already finished his tea and found it quite unlike anything he’d ever tasted, “you and Jane knew each other once. And she and…”

“Loki.”

“Right. There’s something between them.”

“Yes. There was.”

John didn’t believe the past tense Sherlock was selling him. He paused before saying, “And there’s something between you and Loki too.”

Sherlock raised his gaze very slowly to meet John’s. “Yes. There was.”

Keeping his eyes on Sherlock, John placed his cup on the table beside him and leaned forward. “Is he your boyfriend? You can tell me.”

“No. Not my… No.”

“But he was?”

“It was a very long time ago.”

John nodded. “I believe that. I thought I’d been around for a while, but the two of you have definitely lived a lot longer than I have.”

“Are all your questions answered?” Sherlock raised his cup to his lips. He could see the way he wanted the future to be: John leaving and going back to his life, Sherlock strengthening the spell around his home that could keep out undesirables like Jane and John and even Loki if he wanted, and an easy existence for a decade or so until whatever Moriarty had planned.

Suddenly, Sherlock remembered a time where he’d thrown himself headlong into danger. He’d wanted to know and solve and experience everything and that was what had brought him to Loki and to everything he now had. Except… After a while, he had just become hungry for a home. So he’d built one. Now, he barely journeyed past his own front door, and as for the future, he’d only lately cared to see his own skewed version of what he hoped would be. He felt like a ghost of himself.

“No,” John murmured and Sherlock was forced to look up.

“I have one more question actually.”

John smiled across the room at Sherlock. “Would you go on a date with me?”

“What?”

Taking a deep breath, John shrugged and tried to remain hopeful. “Since he’s not your boyfriend anymore, maybe you wouldn’t mind going somewhere with me. We could get to know each other, I can show you what I do, and um… I just still can’t believe you’re a witch and everything, but I really just like  _you_.” He paused. “I want to know you the way I feel you already know me. And tonight, I got to see what your life is like… And I want you to see mine. I feel connected to you, Sherlock.”

Opening his mouth, Sherlock already knew every word he should say and why he should say it. He already knew this would only make it harder, only strain his spell, only twist another screw through his already punctured heart. But the right words didn’t come.

“Yes. All right.”

 

 

 

Jane was standing alone on the catwalk above Club Désir, her eyes roaming over the crowd and yet not seeing it. The people who came here, who danced in a tumble of bodies and sweat, who drank the wine and heard the colors in the pulsing music, never left and it never seemed to become light outside. She didn’t think they would notice anyway if it did.

She suddenly felt a hand on her arm and jerked it back, fear clutching her throat. She realized immediately that it was Loki and tried to hide her hands, which were already stained in red magick. She glared at him.

“What are you still doing here?”

He said nothing and thought nothing for her to hear, merely staring back at her and waiting. Jane rolled her eyes.

“Oh, god, why should I lift it? I’m sure there are a thousand people who’d prefer you much more this way.”

Loki didn’t respond, and she sighed, lifting the spell with the flick of her wrist.

“I hope you use this as a way to remember that I’m the most powerful witch you know, and you better not piss me off again for any reason… or even speak in my presence unless I give you permission.” She turned to go and heard him clearly over the din of the crowd.

“Who are you?”

She spun around to give him another threatening look. “What the hell did I just say?”

“This isn’t you. You were strong and smart and capable. You never let anything take you over. Then, I hurt you and you suddenly let in the first hex peddler who comes along?”

Jane took a step toward him. Her eyes flashed red, and suddenly, the entire club was empty but for them. They could hear their own breathing, and Loki, his own quickening heartbeat.

“FUCK you. You have no idea who am I or what I’ve been through. Not everything’s about you, you egomaniacal prick.”

Loki took in a slow, deep breath and tried to move toward her. “Fine. Maybe it’s not. But I know this isn’t you. And I know you’re hurting and you’re trying to cover it up with dirt. It won’t work, Jane.”

He saw something shift in her then, the way her eyelids softly dropped and the way her head tilted to one side. He saw the white ends curling at the edge of her magick like when a piece of paper begins to burn.

“What do you know about pain?”

Loki swallowed. “Jane…”

“You hide every emotion you’ve ever felt behind a false smile and a bottle of wine.” She was close to him now, too close. He could smell her hair, like lotuses, and the cinnamon-sweetness of her clothes. “You think you can save me? You can’t save me, baby. You are literally nothing to me now.”

Loki tried to speak, but he couldn’t, could only scream. He was tumbling through blackness and all the parts of him were melting away, flesh and bone and mind and memory, until he truly was nothing. Nothing at all.

He woke on the floor of the club, the room filled again with dancing, desiring people. As he gasped for air, he looked down at his hands just to reassure himself that he was really there, that he wasn’t nothing, not yet. And, once he’d finally managed to calm down, he looked for her, but she was already gone.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “Now here’s a riddle in a rhyme.  
> If she’s the same how come she’s different now?  
> The same old eyes, but not the shine.  
> You know you’re certain, but you’re full of doubt.  
> Here she comes, here she comes!”  
> -“Here She Comes” by Bonnie Tyler
> 
> A/N: The lighting in the club looks different to everyone and reflects your deepest desire. For Sherlock, it is blue, the color of John’s magick. Of course, John sees the club in flickering purples, though he has no idea why, and the place is a bright red blur to Loki. For Jane, the lighting has always been green, much to her displeasure.


	19. In Which an Invitation is Accepted and Later Declined

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “I’m building this house  
> On the moon  
> Like a lost  
> Astronaut.  
> Lookin’ at you  
> Like a star  
> From a place  
> The world forgot.  
> And there’s nothing  
> That I can do  
> Except bury my love for you.”

Sherlock received the request on thick, card paper and prepared, for the first time in a long time, to leave the shop of his own free will. It wasn’t used to losing its master, and Sherlock could feel its walls bow in slightly in protest. Still, he dressed for the caliber of the event and left all the same.

When he arrived in the theatre, there wasn’t an empty seat in the house. He would have preferred to stand in the back, but his summons read that he should sit close. He listened to the buzzing of the audience around him and then the quiet hush when the curtains parted. John appeared before them on the stage, his arms outstretched and a grin on his lips. He wore a blue half-mask and top hat, which made Sherlock’s mouth twitch into an almost smile. John introduced himself as the Phantom, and the audience broke into wild applause.

He performed a few simple spells presented as “tricks” that astounded his spectators, and Sherlock couldn’t help but to glance around the theatre at the sea of faces that were all in awe of him. Magick, true magick, would always remain fascinating, no matter how much advancement was achieved during the progress of time. John did old tricks back from the days when Sherlock was a boy, finally ending in a rather impressive rendition of the Disappearing Man. Even Sherlock’s eyebrows raised slightly at this.

John played the audience masterfully and received a standing ovation at the end of the show. Sherlock held his breath when he realized it was time for him to go backstage and find his former apprentice. Though he’d agreed to this, and known every bit of what he was getting himself into, he now felt that it had been a poor decision. But how could he leave when John could have seen him, or more than likely felt him, in the audience? Sherlock stood and swept past a few patrons until he found the door to the backstage area and disappeared inside.

When he saw John sitting at his vanity, a wide smile spread across his handsome, still-young-looking features, Sherlock was immediately reminded of the first time John had cleaned the shop. He’d walked in to close things up for the night and John, covered in about a thousand types of dust particles, grinned at him, a broom in one hand and a feather duster in the other. The shop looked… clean, actually clean, and though there was still a considerable amount of disorganization to the whole thing, Sherlock could tell John had tried to do his job well. He hadn’t smiled back but instead had walked John toward the door and showed him how the locks worked, enchanting them a bit extra shortly afterward. He also showed him how to feed the animals, and though he was wary of Morgana and extremely perturbed by Thomas, John learned and was able to complete the tasks himself the next time. That big grin he’d worn his very first night cleaning the shop was the same one he was wearing now. Sherlock could feel John wanting his approval, and he swallowed the lump in his throat.

“What’dja think?”

Sherlock nodded. “Very entertaining.”

John shrugged slightly. “Yeah, well… I mean, I just do it to pay the bills like I said. And I know some of those spells are sort of amateur, but they want to see them. So.” He took a deep breath in through his nose and let it out slowly. “I’m glad you came.”

“As am I,” said Sherlock, more stiffly than he’d meant to.

John looked him over, and for a moment, it was like Sherlock was seeing the younger John: suspicious and irrepressible. John smiled slowly and held out his hands to Sherlock.

“Dinner?”

“Wherever you like.”

John smiled. “I think I know something close.”

 

 

John took Sherlock to a small diner, the kind that buzzes softly in the after hours, keeping a light on for all of the world. While they ate, they spoke vaguely of magick and work, though Sherlock was especially terse about how he made his living. John had already put the pieces together and was happy to just let Sherlock give him the bare minimum. Somehow, it felt familiar, like old times, even though John hadn’t been on a proper date in years. The pie came, and his skin hummed when he thought about what he would say next.

He waited until Sherlock had a mouthful of pie before he said it.

“Listen, I, uh… I don’t usually do this. Normally, I prefer it the other way, but do you wanna come back to my place?”

Sherlock almost choked on the chocolate silk filling. “I…” He cleared his throat. “I don’t believe that’s wise.”

“There’s nothing wrong with it,” John said. “We already know so much about each other and I really want you to see my place. Besides, it’s not too far from here and it’s likely to snow soon.”

Sherlock set his jaw and stared down at the table. He knew what he should say and what he should  _do_ , which would be even harder. He knew what Loki would tell him, assuming he could create coherent sentences around the bottle that had most assuredly been glued to his lips after he’d seen Jane. But he raised his gaze to meet John’s and still could not do what he knew in his heart he should.

Not only because he didn’t want to hurt the boy who’d been so gentle in opening him up for a time, and to whom he still owed quite a debt of gratitude, but he wanted to see it. The place where John now lived. It was a stupid reason, but it was compelling.

“All right.”

 

 

John’s flat was close, and Sherlock brushed the snow off his coat as he stepped inside. The rooms were warm and the first thing Sherlock noticed was the framed poster of John as The Phantom that dominated the small dining room in loud technicolor. Just to pay the bills indeed. Though it may have been at first, John did seem to love the applause. Sherlock could recall a spark of that feeling from way back when, but he didn’t have time to bask in it now.

“So, um, make yourself at home,” John said as he inched past him into the next room. After he’d been gone a moment, the flat suddenly filled with the sounds of soft trumpet and piano, making Sherlock’s body stiffen.  _Things are going to happen here that shouldn’t happen_ , said his inner voice, which just happened to sound like Loki.  _It’s better to leave now and spare the both of you any pain._

Sherlock opened his mouth to speak but then noticed the small tank filled with water on John’s bookcase. He moved toward it and stared in at the little octopus inside that seemed to be bouncing off the glass walls like a kid on a caffeine high.

“Is this your companion?” Sherlock asked and John grinned, coming over to him.

“Yeah! Yeah, that’s Opie. I got him a few months ago. Saw him at a pet store and thought why not. He can be a bit high-strung though.”

Sherlock nodded, a smile finally spreading across his face. “He is very energetic. Not sure how he and O would get on.”

“O?”

With a soft intake of breath, Sherlock quickly changed the subject. “You don’t, uh, bring people back here often you said before.”

“Yeah.” John nodded. “It’s kind of just for me. I like having a space of my own, and I don’t think others would appreciate it like I do. Plus, the people I met up till now weren’t witches so I didn’t want to give anything away.”

Sherlock was still lost in the way John had described his home as being something of his own and how he had always felt so similarly about the shop. He tried to shake the feeling off but wasn’t very successful. John suddenly placed a hand on his shoulder.

“There’s something else I want you to see.”

He guided Sherlock down the hall and into what was obviously his bedroom. Sherlock saw only a sparse space with a neatly made bed–– _had he gone into the Army after school?_ ––and a television set on top of a chest of drawers, but his eyes finally moved to where John had wanted them: the large window on the other side of the room. There, Sherlock looked out and saw a lake at nighttime, a large moon hanging over the water and a dock leading far into it, the entire scene bathed in blue.

“What do you think? I’ve never been there or anything, wherever it is. It was just something I sort of, um… Conjured I guess.”

As quietly as possible, Sherlock murmured, “And why did you. Conjure this image.”

“Not sure.” John set his jaw and was silent for a moment and then finally admitted, “It makes me feel good. Safe. I’m not sure why.”

Sherlock turned to look at John again, his mind and heart full with the memory of their first time when they’d been bathed in the exact same light from this exact same scene. Sherlock’s spell had worked, but no matter what, he didn’t seem able to erase everything John had experienced in their year together.

“If you don’t bring others back here, why did you bring me?”

“Because. I wanted you to see it. I wanted to… show you. I guess that’s strange, but I don’t care.”

Sherlock looked down into John’s eyes and carefully placed his fingertips on either side of his jaw. John let out a small breath, nervous obviously, but didn’t break his gaze. When he’d managed to push aside the thoughts he hadn’t been listening to anyway, the thoughts that told him everything he already knew, Sherlock leaned down and pressed his lips to John’s.

They kissed fervently, sometimes getting one another’s noses or chins, and Sherlock drew John closer to the bed until the backs of his legs were touching the frame. John pressed his body against Sherlock’s several times, which finally coaxed a gasp out of him, and Sherlock opened his eyes to stare down at John again.

His apprentice had truly grown, though he still wore the face of a boy. He was handsome but wiser than before, a quality that shone through the incredible blue of his eyes. John leaned up to caress Sherlock’s cheek and pressed close to him again until Sherlock nearly shivered.

“Do you wanna be inside me, Sherlock?” he asked in a voice that was breathy, needy, and one Sherlock had conjured many times himself while alone in his room.

But when he looked back at John, he searched his own heart. Though it wanted John desperately, he felt that same barrier there. The wall. The curse. Keeping John out.

_I don’t love you_ , Sherlock thought.  _I_ can’t _love you._

Breaking free of John’s grasp, Sherlock turned away and murmured something about having to leave.

“Wait, Sherlock… What is it?”

He pulled away from John again and wandered back into the main room before John could catch up with him.

“I’m sorry, I can’t.”

“Why?!”

“It’s for the best. Trust me.”

“ _What_  is? Explain it to me, Sherlock, please! Talk to me!”

But Sherlock was already leaving, the door to John’s flat closing behind him. Not ever being one to give up without a fight, John followed him out into the hall, resolved to beg Sherlock to just explain it to him, to know that they didn’t have to do anything if he didn’t want to, to just understand how much John needed him, even if John didn’t really understand it. Once outside, though, he instead became witness to Sherlock’s much more elegant version of The Disappearing Man.

 

 

Sherlock went home, but he didn’t have to wait long for John to follow him there. His former apprentice appeared in his shop almost six hours later, his face flushed from wandering the cold London streets. 

“Sherlock.” John stepped forward slowly, clearly nervous but wearing his bravest face as always. “You have to talk to me. Tell me what happened last night.”

With a soft nod, Sherlock responded, “Yes. You deserve that much.”

“Yeah. But it’s not about that. I really like you and I need to know what’s going on. Why do you know me so well, and why am I so drawn to you? I know you know it, Sherlock. I know you know already and I just… I want to understand.”

“Yes. Why don’t we discuss it over tea?”

They retired to the parlor, and Sherlock made John a cup, albeit with extra ingredients. When John tasted his tea, he realized it was different than before, but he didn’t have much time to dwell on it. Sherlock sent him away once again with only the memories he’d gained up until he’d wandered into the shop a few days before.

 

 

Three weeks passed without incident. Sherlock drank, which was somewhat of a departure from the norm, but he knew it would prove safer than sobriety, as Moriarty was still searching for his despair. When Loki had come to call previously, Sherlock had made sure to hide one bottle of wine in particular, one he made himself and while it was very successful in its abilities, he hadn’t wanted any chance of Loki getting ahold of it. This wine had particular, aphrodisiac properties, and Sherlock hadn’t wanted to deal with a Loki who had that type of alcoholic magick running through his blood. However, as it was now the only bottle left in Sherlock’s home, he was currently drinking it when the bell on his door sounded.

“Shit.”

It was past closing time, and he had completely forgotten to lock up for the night. Sherlock trundled to his feet and into the shop where he was greeted by the familiar man in the doorway.

“Evening. I, uh… Saw the light was on, and I thought you might be open.”

Sherlock closed the gap between them in an instant and kissed John hard, pressing him against the door. John gasped against his mouth, but there was no protest as Sherlock continued to kiss him. When John finally was able to get his bearings, Sherlock felt his hands at his waist and then, as John became bolder, gripping at his back. John was finally returning the kiss now, and Sherlock groaned, having forgotten what it felt like to be touched and especially to be touched by John. He felt John’s hands slip into his hair and was overwhelmed.

Sherlock lifted John onto his hips and undid his belt hastily as John kept kissing him. He could feel the need in John rising to meet his own, and he slammed their bodies against the door, eliciting a moan from John that almost had him on the edge already. He yanked down John’s trousers as much as necessary to slip two fingers laced with magick inside him and to listen to John cry out.

“Chriiiist. Oh, god, that feel so good!”

Sherlock bit and sucked at his neck but gasped when John bucked his hips against him.

“Fuck me. Now.”

Awash in the feel of John and unable to think, Sherlock pressed inside him, his long cock driving all the way in as John gripped him hard.

“Ohhh!”

Sherlock held John against the door, still grinding his hips up and into him. He could already feel his body shuddering near the edge of climax. Even when he'd sent him away a second time, Sherlock had known it would happen soon enough, that John would come back as Sherlock was never able to hide the shop from him for long, and the wine had clouded his mind to the point where he could do what he knew they both wanted.

_But you don’t love him_ , Loki seemed to be saying somewhere .

_You don’t love him_. Another voice, perhaps his own.

_I can’t love him._

_All I’ve done is hurt him._

_I want him._

_But I can’t love him._

Sherlock shuddered, his body feeling pushed to its limits as he listened to John’s breath in his ear and the cries of pleasure escaping him. He was so deep inside him now that he thought he could disappear, but then again, hadn’t that always been exactly what he’d wanted?

_You’ll only hurt him._

_You can’t love him._

_But, by the gods in the water and the gods in the ground, I cannot stop._

With a loud moan that he buried in John’s shoulder, Sherlock came, his body exhausted and his heart wrenched. He thrust his hips a few times more trying to drag an orgasm out of John, who shuddered and gripped the doorframe above him. John bounced his hips several times until he was coming too, his breath hitching in his throat as he made a mess of both of them. Only when he felt he had the strength to stand on his own did Sherlock pull away from the door and set John on his feet.

“Ah.” John leaned his head back against the door and sighed. “That was… I don’t know whether I should say first how fucking incredible that was or to ask you your name.”

Wincing, Sherlock stepped away and glanced at the bookshelves, filled with knickknacks and belongings that he’d taken from others and kept. He shuddered, wondering if his heart was on a shelf somewhere he couldn’t see, somewhere surrounded by cursed magick filled with pain.

“Are you… Are you all right?”

Sherlock turned to stare at John again and swallowed, giving a careful nod. “Yes. I’m fine.” He ran a hand slowly through his hair and watched John’s image swim in front of him. Drunk, sober, in love, or no; he knew none of it mattered. All of this would continue and continue, rolling back to the same problems tomorrow that he’d had today. And perhaps he’d damned as well as cursed himself. And all of them. Yes, perhaps he had.

It made little difference anyway.

Sherlock stood up straight and turned to face John again. “Sorry about that. Tea?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “I’m a castaway,  
> And men reap what they sow.  
> And I say what I know  
> To be true.  
> Yeah, I’m living far away  
> On the face of the moon.  
> I’ve buried my love  
> To give the world to you.  
> The brightness of the sun  
> Will give me just enough  
> To bury my love  
> In the moondust.  
> I long to hear your voice,  
> But still I make the choice  
> To bury my love  
> In the moondust.”  
> -“Moondust” by Jaymes Young


	20. In Which Everyone Finds Their Breaking Point

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “It doesn’t hurt me.  
> You wanna feel how it feels?  
> You wanna know, know that it doesn’t hurt me.  
> You wanna hear about the deal I’m making?  
> You  
> You and me”

Unable to keep out the storm by shutting his doors and saying his spells, Sherlock was determined to ride it out and to accept that John would find him again and again. Which he did. Three more times, John stumbled into the shop, unassuming, smiling politely, and asking Sherlock if he was open, if the shop was truly a magick shop, and if he could stay for a while to see more. Every time, John was interested in learning about Sherlock, in knowing more about him, and every time, Sherlock served him a cup of tea that sent John away.

He tried to keep his hands to himself most of the time, but once, Sherlock had leaned down to place the tea tray in front of John who’d leaned up to help him and their fingers had brushed. Sherlock had looked his former lover over, feeling his body seize with wanting, and leaned in for a kiss to which John eagerly responded. After tearing himself away, Sherlock had suggested tea first, claiming he was shy, and watched the whole thing play out again.

It wasn’t until the fourth time the shop’s bell rang out and he heard John’s familiar footfalls on the wooden floor that his hands began to shake. Sherlock stood, determined to do the same as he had time after time before, but his hands would not stop shaking. He dashed out of the parlor and into his lab and John, hearing the sound, ran deeper into the shop and down the hall.

“Hello?” he called. “Is someone there?”

He found Sherlock on the floor of his lab, his body curled up against the leg of the great wooden table there and his hands held against him like injured paws. John kneeled beside him.

“Oh, God… Is––Are you all right? Let me get a doctor!”

“No!” Sherlock reached out and gripped John’s arm so hard it hurt. He gritted his teeth slightly and shuddered. John could feel his magick rolling off his skin, could almost see its purple hue, and he felt a hush go over him.

“Jesus, is that––Is that your magick?”

“It’s nothing. It’s just…” He shook his head. “Emotions getting the better of me.”

“What is it? What’s wrong?”

“Nothing!” Sherlock’s throat cracked as he almost sobbed and he began to turn away from John, trying to force himself to his feet and back into the parlor, to offer John his tea and send him on his way. His hands were still shaking like mad though, and he was on the verge of tears.

“Please,” John murmured, placing his other hand on Sherlock’s shoulder. “Let me help you.”

“No.” For a moment, he felt the two sides of him distinctly, warring with each other: the one that pushed him to stand and go to the parlor and the other that implored him to throw his arms around John and beg his forgiveness. He groaned.

“Sherlock,” John said. “You’re Sherlock, aren’t you? This is your place? Please. What is it?”

He thought of all the moments he’d taken for granted with John and everything he’d taken from him by destroying his memories. Could he really go on like this? Could any of this continue to go on this way for much longer? Had he truly been so foolish?

_Oh, Sherrrrrrrrlock_ came the voice he knew all too well. _You’re more foolish than you know. Every time you fight that pain you feel, you get closer and closer to me._

Thinking he heard laughter in his mind, or perhaps it was screaming, Sherlock wrenched away from John and gripped the sides of his head, nearly howling, “I CAN’T  _DO_  THIS ANYMORE.”

The room was silent for a moment and Sherlock felt the cracks forming everywhere, through his body, his mind, his magick. He whipped around to look at John and saw his eyes turning bright blue, his expression becoming cold and wounded.

In a hollow voice, John whispered, “How do you think I feel?”

Sherlock summoned all his strength and every ounce of magick in his body to remove himself and the shop from the plane they were on, leaving John behind in the snow in a space that he could have sworn had been occupied by a shop with a bell on the door and an array of animals inside and a man whose pain had gone beyond suffering into frailty, into vulnerability.  

Once he’d returned home, John locked himself inside and spread out on his living room floor. He had always hated meditating, but he’d had quite a bit of time to get better at it, and he now knew it was the only way he was going to get past all the confusion swirling inside his mind. He took deep, calming breaths, waiting for something to clear inside him. After an hour, he began to notice the changes.

 

 

There were parts of his mind that had been dark for a very long time, and no matter how hard he had tried to throw light on them before, he’d never been able to. Now, though, these shadows seemed to strain against the insides of his mind, and he began to realize they weren’t shadows at all but spells. Spells that had been covering up memories long forgotten. John concentrated and could see thin shafts of light in these dark places that had seemed so inscrutable before. At once, he began to push and prod, concentrating everything on widening those small points of light. And at once, when he managed to create a beacon from what were small pinpoints, the light rushed forth, and everything came back.

_“Welcome to my shop.”_

_“You need to be looking for something. Why else would you be here?”_

_Morgana eating a small mouse whole and Thomas sucking on a blood orange. O oozing about in his tank._

_“I want you to teach me magick.”_

_Jane’s smile as they sat across from each other on the sofa, reading one another’s minds._

_The sound of Sherlock’s violin, Jane’s voice, Loki’s laugh._

_“I’m sorry. I want to learn. You must have been the same way, right? Wishing you knew everything already? Wanting all of it now? It doesn’t mean I won’t work hard. I’m sorry. I want you to teach me everything.”_

_Seeing and feeling his magick for the first time and Sherlock’s whispered words that he could feel it too._

_The first night he spent with Sherlock and how he’d felt like he’d become the moon and the many nights he’d been with him afterward._

_The feel of Sherlock’s hands on his skin and his breath against his ear. The way he smiled against John’s shoulder. The way he pressed in so deep._

_“Press into me.”_

_Holding Sherlock all night as he’d sobbed and then…_

_And then…_

_“Goodbye, John.”_

John’s eyes opened slowly as he sat alone on the floor. He swallowed against his dry throat and took a long, even breath.

_Why?!_  he wanted to cry out, pain and rage surging inside him. He forced another swallow and sniffed. Finally, he was able to think rationally.

_You wouldn’t have done this if you thought there was some other way._

_You did this for me. At least you thought you did._

“Darling,” he whispered aloud and leaned his head back. It was time for him to take matters into his own hands, and with every part of him now intact, he was ready.

 

 

Sherlock shut himself away for a long time, knowing that it was more likely now than ever that Moriarty would come for him in his vulnerable state. He knew the witch fed off pure, undiluted pain, and Sherlock’s veins were running with it. In addition, he’d placed every bit of power he had in magicking the shop away from John and London, so he wouldn’t have been able to fight Moriarty off if he’d tried.

For three days, he sat in his parlor and drank cup after cup of tea as he tried to convalesce, his only companions being the animals he’d always kept so close and the shop that kept him. For most of that time, he did not even have the strength to summon his magick, let alone check on John. He was unaware even that his spell had been broken and that John was close, so very close, to developing a plan.

Still, he’d thought he’d placed himself far enough away that no witch less powerful than he could have found him.

Well. He was right.

“You know, I never really got invited into this room,” Jane said, as she wandered into the parlor. Sherlock tensed, prepared for a fight, but he knew all he had were his words and his intellect. It had to be enough.

“I guess it was always a bit of a boy’s club, huh? I mean, there was that one time at Christmas, but other than that, you really did prefer to hold your boyfriend tête-à-têtes here. And I guess we never really had much to talk about.”

“Have you come to drag me into Hell?” Sherlock murmured as he gazed up at her. Jane certainly looked both more beautiful and more terrifying than she ever had before, but his voice stayed smooth.

“You don’t want to let yourself be afraid of me this time.” Jane nodded and then gave a conciliatory head tilt. “I’m impressed, especially because you’ve got nothing in your hand.”

“I wouldn’t say that.”

“You’ve weakened yourself, Sherlock. You can barely stand.”

“Yes,” he whispered and looked up at her over the collar of his cape. “But I’m not going to make it easy for you to remove me.”

“Moriarty wants you willing.”

“As you were?”

Jane looked away, her eyes turning to the mantlepiece as her eyebrow raised slightly. “I wasn’t as broken as you.”

“Weren’t you, though?”

“I made a decision.”

“And he used your pain. Twisted it. Made you pliable, made you his.”

“I’m still  _me_ , Sherlock!” she said with a growl. “Everything I do is my choice.”

“And I think you’ll regret those words someday very soon.”

“You shouldn’t try to look into what will be when you don’t have your futuresight.” Her tone became mocking. “Then it’s just guessing. Didn’t anyone ever teach you that?”

“For you, it’s guessing; for me, it’s deduction.” He leaned back a little in his chair. “I still have some tricks up my sleeve.”

She laughed. “You just don’t want to admit it’s over. You’re not the most powerful force in the universe anymore.”

“Yes. But I’m also not a tool or a little windup toy for a mad man.”

Jane’s voice became a low rumble, a warning. “You should do what he says, Sherlock. In the state you’re in, he’s definitely more powerful than you, and he’s offering you partnership rather than annihilation.”

“So I can help him complete the annihilation of others?” He became very quiet. “No. I will not fall prey to my own grief and likewise to him… As you did.”

“I am  _not weak_!”

“Of course you are,” Sherlock said, his voice calm as still waters. “You’re in love. And it makes fools of us all, in the end. Even the strongest. Even the most powerful.”

“I am not a fool!” Jane leaned down to press close to Sherlock, her nose inches from his. “That bastard will never have a hold on me again! And I’m never going to be that stupid or feel that kind of pain again––ever!”

“And what of the pain you inflict?” Sherlock asked quietly, and Jane’s face fell into a confused stare. “What of blood you spill in order to keep your own wounds from opening, the blood he has you spill in his name?”

Sherlock reached down and grabbed Jane’s wrists before wrenching them forward and turning her hands over. He knew he didn’t need magick because she could see it herself.

Jane gasped at the red gushing from the palms of her hands. It wasn’t her magick and it wasn’t her own blood but the blood she’d spilled or helped to spill as Moriarty’s strong right arm. She had put it all away, she’d had to, and Moriarty had helped immensely in covering it up, but now it was all coming back. She yanked her hands away and wondered how many of them she’d actually killed herself.

Without a sound, Jane disappeared in front of him and Sherlock settled back into his chair once more. He felt for Jane, knowing she hadn’t been fully aware of everything she’d done for Moriarty and that he’d promised her no pain after she’d felt so much. He knew she would judge herself harshly, but it was the only way.

And yet, he refused to judge her himself as he’d been so close to making the same mistakes, to giving over to darkness in the form of white magick and wide smiles. In some ways, he’d wondered if he’d given into another force just as awful when he thought of how he’d lived his life in the time before John. Shutting himself off from the world, passing judgement and acquiring treasures, wallowing in the cloud of self-pity that John had somehow lifted.

He felt the familiar pang of missing him and told himself the same thing he always did when it happened.

_It doesn’t matter. You don’t love him. You_ can’t _love him._

That night, John tried to recreate the peppermint tea from everything he knew of Sherlock and of drinking it for a whole year. He was largely unsuccessful. When he finally scrapped that plan, he sat down in his living room and drank a cup of non-orgasmic tea, his eyes fixed on his record player, the one he’d used to play music for Sherlock.

_You were here. Right here and you didn’t tell me._

It wasn’t that he didn’t want John. It couldn’t be, or else he wouldn’t have come to his magick show, wouldn’t have joined him for dinner, wouldn’t have fucked him against the door of the shop. John’s eyes closed briefly at the memory.

Yes, it was all coming together now. Sherlock would have just sent John on his way if he hadn’t wanted him. It had to be something much more. He asked himself what the most likely scenario was and briefly entertained the idea that Sherlock might believe he was protecting him.

_Why would you think that, you stupid git?_

He glared at the wall and set his tea aside. The only thing he could do was ask. And since Sherlock wasn’t going to tell him willingly, he had to go looking himself.

A long time ago, he’d stepped out of his bedroom and into the living mural that constantly shifted and changed according to his master’s moods. He’d asked himself if, perhaps, this had been Sherlock’s mind that he’d visited, but he knew it was likely that he would run into a lot more roadblocks before he ever got close to the place where his thoughts truly lay.

_What did you call it? Your mind palace?_

Sure, he’d read Sherlock’s thoughts on occasion––and had always gotten shit for it––but to actually go  _inside_  a mind… And Sherlock’s mind at that… He knew now it wouldn’t ever be as easy as walking into that beautiful scene. Perhaps the mural had just been something Sherlock had created and maintained for John, trying to impress him even then.

_I broke the spell. And he hasn’t even come to do anything about it. Maybe this is the time. Maybe I could go into his mind too and he wouldn’t notice._

As unlikely as it was, John knew he had to try. His body ached for Sherlock, and he would only know the unnecessary reason they were apart if he went in himself.

And perhaps, on top of everything else, this was his one chance to understand the man who’d changed his entire life, whom he loved even now and had continued to love even when he hadn’t known it.

 

 

It took him two weeks to gather the materials and to find the spells he needed. Now that he knew where to look for other witches, he found them quite easily and tried not to begrudge Sherlock for keeping him from the magickal community with his memory-altering spell. In three hundred years, John had never found another person with magick, and he knew now it hadn’t been a coincidence.

_Did you think one of them would trigger my memory of you? Or did you think I’d find someone I liked better?_ Briefly he thought of Mary and remembered that, as much as he had tried to love her, there had always been something in the way.  _I’ve never loved anyone but you, you know._  John had begun thinking to Sherlock more and more, something unconscious. In truth, Sherlock wasn’t listening, but it did happen to strengthen the connection between their minds, something of which John wasn’t aware but that would help him in the long run.

When he finally sat down in his living room again to perform the spell, it took ten hours of meditation, breathing, pleading, and pain. His body broke out in a cold sweat, and he lost all track of where he was, nearly who he was. But eventually, he felt the world fall away and found himself in a misty field of rolling hills. He saw in the distance a large house with many windows and a black, rain-slicked roof from which several towers and spirals seemed to sprout. It was more than a house, he realized after a moment. It looked like a mansion.

It looked like a palace.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “C’mon, baby. C’mon, c’mon, darling.  
> Let me steal this moment from you now.  
> C’mon, baby. C’mon, c’mon, darling.  
> Let’s exchange the experience.  
> And if I only could  
> Make a deal with God  
> And get him to swap our places,  
> Be running up that road,  
> Be running up that hill  
> With no problems.”  
> -“Running Up That Hill” by Placebo


	21. In Which You Find Your Servant is Your Master

(But first…)

**Chapter Twenty-and-a-Half  
** In Which You Didn’t Ask But Here’s What Loki’s Up to…

“Oh-oh, yes,  
I’m the great pretender.  
Pretending that I’m doing well.  
My need is such,  
I pretend too much.  
I’m lonely but no one can tell.”

 

In his adolescence, Loki had trouble making friends and getting to know people. It was only natural; many do. But after he’d crawled out from under a few shadows and lived a few…hundred…years, he truly came into his own as a wordsmith and magician. He was a hit at bars, always able to please a crowd with his many tricks and tales, and he never went home alone.

After Jane, he’d gone back to the scene, enjoying the familiar smell of the liquor-soaked tables and the dirt-under-fingernails feel of settling into a barstool and scanning the room. There hadn’t been any thought of taking another apprentice, still wasn’t, but he told himself he just needed time. Time to drink and loosen his lips and meet beautiful people who would open like flowers to his words.

It was funny how quickly three hundred years could pass when you were not quite a man, not quite a god, and had lived a very,  _very_  long time.

Loki played the game the same way he had so many nights before, his mouth curling around a glass of Chivas Regal and his eyes on each potential target he found. The girl in the back, there was potential there. Real potential. Not much power, but she clearly had something special to offer under her large parka and gloved hands. And the bartender, she was beautiful, blonde, well-endowed. He didn’t need futuresight to be able to see an incredible night and all the possibilities it could hold if he turned his charm on her. And the boy with his hands in his lap sitting with the woman fifteen years his senior. Loki absently rubbed his lower lip with his index finger.

_There are plenty of them here. Plenty of possibilities. Plenty of lives I could change with just one swift movement. With just one word._

And yet the game, it seemed, had gotten old. Because instead of making his move in any direction, Loki stayed put, eyes never fixating long enough on anyone to create a moment. He drank and drank, past the point of charm or humor or coherence. He stumbled back to his hotel room and, once there, he conjured her image from the thin air.

“Loki,” Jane murmured, but it wasn’t really Jane. She was a ghost, a shell, but she was still the only person he wanted to see.

“Are you afraid?” he asked her.

“Yes.” Her eyes turned down, her face half obscured by her long, beautiful hair, which he’d once buried his face in, once wrapped around his hand as he eased gently into her.

“He tricked me, baby. I was weak and he took advantage of me. He’s a monster.”

Loki hissed at the word, remembering having been called it himself. But this time it applied. Moriarty was a monster.

“He is.”

She lifted her head up again and looked into his eyes. She was small and helpless and frightened.

“Please, Loki. Save me. Please. I need you. I need––”

With a wave of his hand, he sent the vision away immediately. The force of his movement was so hard that it tipped him over onto the bed. But he’d had to get rid of it. It wasn’t Jane. She would never beg, never snivel, never implore him that way. Jane was proud. Jane was hard. And soft. And terrifying and cool. And lovely.

As he lay on his bed, he remembered the warmth of her wrapped around him, and the inevitable claws that always followed that memory again seized his heart. He could not escape Sherlock’s spell, no matter what he did, but it wasn’t that he couldn’t love Jane that made his body spin and burn and his thoughts corrode inside his Scotch-soaked mind. It was that he  _wanted_ to love her like he’d never wanted anything before.

Loki had been used to disappointment. For a long time, he embraced his hungry and unhappy search for true satisfaction as it eluded him at every turn, but finally, living among mortals had allowed him to let go of that dream. To float. To enjoy every moment of the ride, laughing louder than anyone when the rug came out and clouds rolled in.

And when he laughed now, no one heard him. But Á! It was a hard habit to break.

“Yes, I’m the great pretender.  
Just laughin’ and gay like a clown.  
I seem to be what I’m not, you see.  
I’m wearing my heart like a crown  
Pretending that you’re still around.”

-“The Great Pretender” by The Platters

 

**(The Real Chapter Twenty-One)  
** In Which You Find Your Servant is Your Master

“You consider me the young apprentice  
Caught between the Scylla and Charybdis,  
Hypnotized by you if I should linger,  
Staring at the ring around your finger.”

 

After only a half an hour of trekking through the misty countryside, John made it to the palace and, once he was finally standing before it, reached out to nudge the great front door. It was open. Somehow, that didn’t seem as fortuitous as he’d hoped, and he carefully walked into the marbled foyer. The room was as lavish as one would have expected from Sherlock’s mind, opulent chandeliers and giant vases full of flowers, lilies. As John stole inside, the smallest tendril of a bright, green vine crept in after him, unnoticed.

He moved gingerly across the floor and finally noticed the three doors standing in front of him. They all looked identical and only kept his attention for a moment because he was soon staring up at the large, white staircase that wound its way to the second story above him.

“Jeeeesus,” he murmured and thought of Sherlock. He thought of the way Sherlock used to look at him and how he felt. That said, it was difficult not to. He was everywhere in this place.

John focused again on the three doors.  _The one on the left_ , he thought,  _that should be it_. Though he wasn’t sure why he thought it, and this made him second-guess himself.  _All right. How about the middle?_

He walked toward it and closed his hand over the glass doorknob. He prepared himself to see Sherlock again with all of his memories now intact. His whole body felt stiff and yet shivery with anticipation as he turned the knob.

Loud, angry barking answered him as a snarling dog nearly leaped through the door, is jaws going straight for his throat. John cried out in surprise and slammed the door hard, barely getting it closed before the beast’s teeth closed around his jugular.

It took him a moment to catch his breath, but okay, fine, yeah, it wasn’t the middle door. The one on the right, then. He sidled over to it, gave himself a quick moment to prepare for another large dog, and opened it.

“Ah! JESUS!”

A swarm of bees surrounded him and John, terrified, began to swat in the air. Suddenly, though, he remembered Sherlock’s affinity for the insects and instead threw himself on the floor, covering his face with his jacket. Finally, he heard their angry drone begin to fade away as they flew up toward the ceiling of the palace, and he took several deep breaths, trying to steady himself.

His mouth becoming a hard, even line, he turned to stare at the leftmost door.  _Okay. So it was you after all, wasn’t it? Fine. Okay._ John moved toward it this time with purpose and, with only the barest hesitation, he flung it open.

Well, of course inside would be an even bigger dog that shot bees out of its mouth at him when it barked, wouldn’t it?

Fantastic.

John took off toward the staircase, narrowly missing dog and bees all. While he tried to breathe evenly and stop his hands from shaking, he finally realized that he was already halfway up the staircase and nothing was chasing him. This had been the path all along.

“Oh,  _FINE._ ”

He started up, wondering if it would be all right if, upon finding him, he throttled Sherlock first before doing what he’d actually come there to do.  _You make me nuts, you know that?_ He kept climbing.

 

 

John was winded by the time he got to the second floor. He was in pretty good shape, but the walk had been so long and steep, he’d thought Sherlock must have been a mountain goat or something in a previous life. He was plenty pissed once he stepped into the hallway.

A Mamluk rug dominated the floor, and John admired it before taking in the rest of the hall. He groaned as he realized it stretched out considerably before him with no end in sight, a flood of doors on either side.

_…With more guardians of your mind behind them, no doubt. Great_.

Stopping about ten doors down, John saw a light dancing under the one to his left and warily, he pushed it open. Inside were a thousand tiny lanterns floating through the room, and with wonder,  John stepped inside. He looked into one of these lighted orbs and saw a healing spell Sherlock had taught him many years ago, and inside another, a perfect representation of how to fly a helicopter.

_Beautiful_ , he thought, but he knew there would be no point in staying in this room. Though it was lovely and he could’ve spent days in there learning all Sherlock knew, he assumed there were likely a million other rooms just like that, full of knowledge that wouldn’t help him.

_Your mind is beautiful, darling. It always was. But I don’t need knowledge. I need memories. I need_ feelings.

He stepped back out into the hallway and began to walk, though he still had no idea how much farther he had to go into the mind of the man he so loved.

 

 

John wasn’t sure how long he’d been walking, but he did notice when the hallway began to dip forward and, suddenly, he was in a dimly lit room with a skylight. There was a wheelchair beside the wall that John could not understand the significance of, but for a moment, he saw a flash of the same room as it would look if it were thrown to the elements. Dismembered and full of dirt, a home for plants growing over all the carefully constructed architecture. John stepped away and shook his head. As the room as it should be shivered back into view, he frowned.

_This can’t be all there is. Where’s the rest of you? Sherlock…_

John looked around the room and only noticed the small door after a few moments. He tilted his head to the side and made a face, wondering why it was so little in the first place, though he could hazard a guess. He bent down on his hands and knees and begin to crawl toward it. Once he opened the door, he saw he could fit through as long as he pulled his shoulders in. He wondered how Sherlock managed it but realized he didn’t have to.

_This place bends to your will, doesn’t it? Like the shop does._

He missed it terribly in that moment, the shop and the animals and Sherlock’s bed and his laboratory and the living mural and the sunny kitchenette. Suddenly, the small door slammed shut behind him and he found himself cramped in total darkness. He groaned a little and twisted, trying to move forward, but he realized the space in front of him narrowed to the point where he couldn’t do that either. He was stuck.

He began to panic for a moment, his heart pounding in his chest and his breathing hitching and burning his mouth. He wracked his brain to find an exit, but he came up short every time. The feeling of being there began to make him weak, like an animal with its foot caught in the steel jaws of a hunter’s trap, and he didn’t even think to use his magick, just stared forward into the darkness with wild eyes.  He almost saw himself going mad, dying there, or not dying there but living on forever, insane, alone, hungry.

The shop came to his mind again and he almost whined for it, wondering if he’d ever see it again, ever see anyone, or anything,  _anything_ … That was when he realized: it was the shop.

_The shop. Is the shop… your mind palace?_

John felt the world fall down again, and he could breathe and he could see. He was in the shop, that very first room where the customers came in, where he’d broken the vase and started his life on a path he could have never foreseen. He swallowed and ran toward the parlor.

That’s where Sherlock would be. He knew it without a doubt.

Except Sherlock wasn’t in the parlor when John got there. After all, John hadn’t taken himself to the shop truly, which was still currently floating in nothing with Sherlock asleep and exhausted inside, but only the one that existed in Sherlock’s mind. Somehow realizing this, John steeled himself and continued on, searching for his master.

 

 

He did not find him in the shower with the plants and he didn’t find him in the kitchen where the table was set for dinner: angel hair pasta with Alfredo sauce and a bottle of Barbera open beside it. He also didn’t find him in his own old bedroom and was disturbed to see the living mural was dark with no image coming through the inky blackness. He continued to stumble down the hall, past the training room with the grass where Sherlock had given lessons to Jane and past several doors that had never opened when he’d tried them. The rug changed and the hallway changed, and still, he kept on.

Suddenly, he stopped, closed his eyes, and stayed perfectly still. He felt nothing moving around him or inside him, nothing at all. Quiet.

_I know you,_  he finally thought.  _I_ know _you. I’ll find you._

The connection happened just as simply as one could’ve imagined. The door to his left opened and he felt a warm breeze come from inside. With a little sigh, John stepped in and knew he would find it here: the truth, the thing Sherlock had hidden from him. His true self, perhaps.

_No, I know you._

If only John had considered what that really meant, and how much this was likely to hurt…

Inside, John saw a room filled with air and light, with large, open windows that looked out onto the desert. In the distance, he could see the pyramids. He held his breath. The next thing he heard was laughter, low and deep. Sherlock’s.

He turned to see them on the bed, Loki’s long, thin body stretched out on top of Sherlock who was currently curled around him. Sherlock was moaning, but the sound was interrupted by another laugh, his own again. Loki kissed him, sucking softly on his neck as he coaxed him into another climax.

“Ah…” Sherlock’s head turned to the side as he shuddered, and his eyes, fading from purple to green, opened to stare up at his former apprentice.

“Oh. John. You’re here.”

“Sherlock.”

John watched him laugh again, his body arching under Loki.

“Mmm. You’ve come to talk.”

“I’ve come… Yes, I’ve come to ask why.”

“Ah––!  _Why_ …?”

“Yes. Why did you wipe my memories? Turn me away so many times? It isn’t…” He lost the power of speech when Sherlock writhed under Loki again and gave another shameless moan. It took him a moment to gain it back. “Isn’t… because you don’t care for me.”

Sherlock gazed up at him again, his eyes glazed over with satisfaction. “Isn’t it? Are you sure?” He turned to smile at Loki who smiled back and dipped down to kiss his shoulder. John watched Sherlock gasp as Loki slid inside him again.

“Yes. I’m sure.”

“You’re certain… that it’s not just wishful thinking.”

John’s voice was thick with emotion when he finally spoke again. “I came… A long, long way to find you, Sherlock. I couldn’t for a long time, and I think it’s because you’ve gone away, but you need to come home now. Sherlock. You need to come back.”

Sherlock purred and his toes curled. Loki’s body moved snakelike above him and he stretched out, gripping the headboard. They smiled at each other.

“I am home,” Sherlock said.

“Are you really gonna do this to me… Sherlock. Make me watch this?”

Turning toward him again, Sherlock smiled, his eyes barely visible over the curve of his arm. “Don’t be angry, John. You always knew this was the way things were. From the very beginning.”

John crossed to them and knelt down to be close to Sherlock’s face. He could smell their sweat and sex and he could practically hear their hearts beating as one. He swallowed.

“Sherlock. Please.” John tried hard to talk around his heart, which was currently pressed up into his throat. “Stop this.”

Sherlock let go of the headboard, reached out, and ran his long, cool fingers down John’s cheek.

“I can’t,” he murmured. Then, he turned his head and gasped as another orgasm took him away.

John gritted his teeth. “You do care for me. I know you do. But you can’t… Why? Why can’t you stop doing this?” He paused, barely noticing the tears that had filled his bright blue eyes. “You want to but you can’t.” He stared down at Sherlock’s face, which was now in shadow and tilted away from both of them. Loki’s body was still moving but his eyes were downcast.

“You’re cursed. Both of you. Is that it? To keep loving each other when you’re supposed to love me. And you, you’re supposed to love Jane. You  _want_ to love us, but you can’t, can you?” John touched Sherlock’s hand that was still barely grazing his cheek and gripped it hard. “You’re trapped.”

Letting go of his hand, John reached out this time and turned Sherlock’s head, forcing their eyes to meet.

“You need to come home now, Sherlock. Back to where you belong from… wherever you’ve been. And we’ll deal with everything. And that man with the white magick, Moriarty, we’ll deal with him. And we’ll break this curse. But you need to come home. Now.”

Sherlock’s expression did not change as he stared into John’s eyes, his lips only parting slightly to speak. “You can’t break it. We can’t break it.” He reached up and took John’s hand, placing it firmly on his chest between him and Loki, right over his heart. “There’s nothing here for you, John. It’s empty.”

For a moment, John said nothing. Then he shook his head.

“Fine. But you still have to come home.”

 

 

John woke up on the floor of his living room covered in sweat and breathing hard. He wasn’t sure how many days had passed, but he was certain it had been days… Or maybe weeks. He scrambled to his feet and out the door as quickly as he could and ran to the place where he’d last seen the shop. The sight of the familiar, old building made him choke back a sob, and he sprinted across the street and right inside. Once there, he found Sherlock sitting in the parlor. He was overcome with emotion at seeing his master, although he wasn’t really his master anymore.

“Tea?” Sherlock asked.

Walking to the opposite chair, John slunk down and forced himself to reply, knowing this time it wouldn’t contain the potion that sent him away. They were beyond that. He was finally one of them now: a witch of the world, powerful and nearly immortal, yet resigned to that which he could not change.

“Yes. Thank you.”

 

“And you’ll be wrapped around my finger.  
You’ll be wrapped around my finger.  
You’ll be wrapped around my finger.”

-“Wrapped Around Your Finger” by The Police

 

 

(Oh right, also…)

**Chapter Twenty-One-and-a-Half  
** In Which This is the Way the World Ends…

“I am nothing without love.  
I’m but a ship stuck in the sand.  
Some would say that I am all alone.  
But I am, I’m nothing without love.”

 

 

“More?” Sherlock asked, but this time, Loki held up his hand, refusing another cup.

“Have you given yourself a limit now? I didn’t think you were capable of that type of self-control.”

Loki gave a little laugh and sighed. “Well, if the end is coming, I’d like to better off than falling down drunk when it does. Not sober, mind you… Just merry of spirit.”

Sherlock sipped his tea and put it aside. “Squiffy,” he mumbled.

“Exactly.” Loki placed his fingertips on the rim of his empty cup and glanced at Sherlock. “So he’s here? Your boy.”

“He is no longer a boy, nor is he mine. He is a fully-formed witch now, though only in part thanks to my help. And he has a name.”

Loki gave a wan smile. “John.” He felt himself long for something, something beyond the dull ache inside him protesting his decision to refuse the wine. “He may be a full witch, but he will always be your boy.”

Sherlock’s gaze didn’t leave him for almost thirty seconds until he finally gave a curt nod and turned away.

“He chose to stay?”  

“He did. Who knows why.”

“You do.” Loki paused. “He loves you, Sherlock.”

Sherlock picked up his tea and took a sip, if only to give himself something to do.

“You know he does. And he always has. Are you just going to let him?”

Sherlock stared down at the arm of his chair and finally glanced up to face Loki again.

“What can I do? The spell didn’t work. He’s here. Things are not as they used to be, but… He’s here. We’re speaking.” Sherlock’s hands moved to steeple below his lips, and Loki watched him make that familiar pose he wasn’t even sure Sherlock noticed himself doing anymore. “We’re doing what we can.”

“And Moriarty? The two of you aren’t concerned?”

Sherlock’s eyes almost closed for a moment. “I saw Jane. She’s having a crisis of conscience.”

Loki gave himself a moment before he answered. “I suppose you brought that on. And I suppose she needed it.” After another pause, his voice became very soft. “Did she suffer?”

“Yes.”

He nodded, saying nothing.

“You can claim penance. She was your apprentice after all, and I punished her.”

Loki laughed. “She’s not my apprentice anymore, as you said about John. And you constantly acted out against her when she was.” The words almost left his mouth, and though they didn’t quite, Sherlock heard them just as clearly.

_“I just wish…”_

“Careful,” murmured Sherlock. After a long silence, he whispered, “She’ll escape him, Loki.”

“Yes. She will. But it won’t change what happened. What will always be.” He leaned his chin on the palm of his hand and looked across the room at Sherlock. “We ruined ourselves. And now we’ve ruined them too.”

Sherlock gave the slightest of nods in agreement with Loki’s words. But something dawned on him then, the oldest living witch, who thought he was long past revelations and epiphanies.

“I.”

Sherlock looked up.

“I ruined it. Us.” Loki nodded softly, his eyes never leaving Sherlock’s.

It seemed to Sherlock that his throat was coated in dust as he tried to speak, but he cleared it and his words came out strong and calm.

“We were ruined long before.”

“Still… What I did.” Loki’s jaw rotated slightly as he tried to hide the emotion in his voice. “How I did it. I’m… I’m sorry.”

Sherlock said nothing for several seconds. Slowly, he moved his hands away from his face and stared back at the man across from him.

“I forgive you.”

It wasn’t loud and it wasn’t thunderous, the way they’d both imagined it would be. But they felt it nonetheless. As it has been said, the world will not end with a bang but a whimper. The same way love fades away. The same way curses are broken.

 

“Oh, baby, show me a sign.  
Send up a signal that everything’s fine.   
Come on, slide up  
Right here by my side.  
You know that I  
I wanna rest in your light.”

-“Nothing Without Love” by Nate Ruess


	22. In Which Everyone Finds Their Home

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “These blood red eyes  
> Don’t see so good,  
> But what’s worse is if they could.  
> Would I change my ways?  
> Wasted times  
> And broken dreams,  
> Violent colors so obscene.  
> It’s all I see these days.”
> 
> -“These Days” by The Black Keys

The sight of blood had faded from her palms when she’d gotten away from Sherlock. She knew it wasn’t there anymore, knew it had actually never been there in the first place, but she was still afraid she’d look down again and there it would be. Of course, after being holed up in a hotel room in Venice with your thoughts for over two weeks, anything could happen.

Jane seemed to come to herself when she sensed magick that wasn’t her own. She was crouched between the wall and the nightstand, and the bed looked like it hadn’t even been slept in. She wasn’t sure how long she’d been in that position, but her muscles screamed under her when she allowed herself to finally feel it.

_Good. I should be in pain. After what I’ve…_

_What I’ve done._

_What have I done…?_

Her body tensed again when she heard the door to her room click open and the footsteps that followed. Her breath caught in her throat as she tried to stand and then remembered she didn’t need to use her aching legs for that. Suddenly, she was on her feet with the help of her magick, her eyes red and ready. She scanned the room.

“Well…?” she said, trying to sound threatening and instead feeling like she’d rather let whoever had come just do away with her already. “Show yourself.”

“Jane.”

God fucking dammit, how had she not recognized the magick, when she knew it too well, too intimately to ever forget?

“Get out, Loki.”

His voice was hollow when he spoke, but his gaze was trained on her. And his eyes were clear.

“No.”

She laughed, and the sound was so strange, so foreign. It didn’t have any of the strength it normally did, any of the defiance. It sounded more like she was crying but she couldn’t be. No.

“Oh, Jane.”

“Don’t! Don’t even come near me, or I swear to God, I’ll kill you.” She laughed again, this time closer to a real one. “Apparently, I’ve done it before.”

“Jane, I know what Moriarty can do. I just didn’t know how to help you.” He crossed to her, and she noticed that he looked very fine in his black suit and tie. He wasn’t even staggering. Sure, he wasn’t completely sober, but according to her sources, he hadn’t been able to even stand up properly in years. “I didn’t know––”

“You thought everything I did was of my own will.”

“You said it was.”

“Then maybe it was.” Jane shook her head. How did she get here? A nice, Jewish girl, on her way to a Bachelor’s in astronomy, trying to make her parents proud even though they were long gone. How did she become a killer? A weapon.

“You were, you know,” Loki said, and she was again struck by the clarity of his gaze, his words. “A weapon. You can’t blame yourself, Jane. He almost got Sherlock. Before…”

“When you broke _his_ heart?” She felt clear too, clear enough to see things for the way they were. Loki would never love her the way she’d wanted him to. Sherlock had been too present, too much  in the way. Sometimes, she thought she could see the other witch wrapped around him like a thick fog. She shuddered.

“Get out.”

“Jane.”

“I _mean_ it, Loki.”

“Just give me a chance to explain.”

“No. No way, absolutely not! When people give you the chance to explain, you fuck them up. You play the snake and you lie and you manipulate. And you always, always get your way.”

Loki shook his head softly. “Not this time.”

Jane sighed and crossed her arms. Was there still blood on her hands?

“Jane, Sherlock and I… We were––We were cursed. For a long time. We’re not anymore. We’re finally free.”

“Of what?”

“Of each other.” Loki took a long, deep breath and let it out slowly. “We were bound to each other by Sherlock’s grief and his anger with me. He cursed us a long time ago and it stuck.”

“You keep using the past tense.”

“It’s deliberate,” Loki said. “We’re not cursed anymore.”

“Why?”

“Because I apologized.”

Jane laughed again, and this time, she sounded like herself. “Apologized. You.”

“Yes.”

“And that somehow broke this curse?”

“Yes. I apologized and he accepted.”

She walked to the opposite side of the room, still unable to look at him. Not because she was angry or because she was scared (even though she certainly was both of these things) but because she knew he was telling the truth.

“I don’t believe you,” she said anyway.

“Yes, you do.” Loki walked over to her, still wary not to get too close, and lowered his voice to its most soothing tone. “Jane…”

“Don’t even try it.”

“Jane. It was the reason why I couldn’t say it before, why I couldn’t make the words come.”

She turned to stare at him, her gaze distrusting and almost feral. Underneath it, though, he could finally see the girl he’d found in that diner those hundreds of years ago. She was afraid, but not like the doll version he’d conjured of her after the night in the bar, begging for help. She needed to know who she was, she needed support. She needed her man. No. She wanted him. But she still wasn’t ready to let go.

Loki reached out to place his hand just beneath hers which hung limply at her side. He could feel the warmth of her skin but hesitated before touching it.

“Jane, I couldn’t love anyone else. I didn’t have the ability when the curse took hold. But even in not loving you, I loved you. And when you wanted to hear the words, I couldn’t make them come.” He took a moment to breathe in quietly, keeping her gaze as she stared up at him. “I can now, Jane.”

“Say them,” she said, and her voice cracked.

“Do you trust me?”

“I can see into your mind, I can see into every particle and atom and bit of stardust that makes you, I’ll know. Say the words, Loki.”

He sighed, relieved at her power, to know that she was so incredibly strong, and that he’d made another witch who surpassed him in every way. It was somehow comforting. But still, he wanted to hold her.

“I love you.”

She swallowed, nodded once, and suddenly he saw a change in her. The hard exterior, built of fear and pain, was starting to dissolve, and he could see the beginnings of hitched breaths and shaking hands.

“Even after… Everything? That I’ve done?”

“Yes.” He said, choosing his words carefully. “I’ve done terrible things myself, mostly of my own volition. But it’s over, Jane. You are no longer his. And I love you.”

She gave another sigh, this one harder, and he heard her hitched breathing start again. Briefly, her hand reached out toward him, and he was immediately there to wrap his arms around her.

“Loki.”

“I know, love.” He held her, and she held back just as hard. “It’s all right. You’re going to end it. You’re stronger than all of us.”

_And I love you_ , he thought. And the words brought him just as much comfort as it brought her.

 

 

That night, even when she lay encircled in his arms, Jane still had nightmares and horrible visions of the world she might have helped create. It had to be over with now, she decided. Crawling out of bed, she made herself a Circle on the hotel room floor and eased into it like a warm bath.

_I’m coming for you_ , she thought. And he was ready.

_Ohhhhh, Little Red. Why do you come to me with all this anger? You shouldn’t be so self-righteous, you know. You wanted someone to set you free. I did that._

_I can set myself free now. And something has to be done about you._

_I gave you exactly what you needed, Plain Jane. The strength to go on without him. The ability to feel that pain and channel it into something better._

_Better?_ She could see him sitting in front of her, that grin spreading across his face that showed off all his teeth. That made him look like he was inches from peeling back his skin and revealing the skull underneath. _You turned me into a weapon._

_You wanted to be rid of your pain. And didn’t I show you a good time, love?_

_Don’t call me that._

_Right. Because now your_ MAN _is back and you ought to go following behind him like a good little wifey poo. No room anymore for dear old daddy. But guess what, Little Red? I’m insiiiiiiiiiiiide you now._

Jane squeezed her eyes shut tighter, and she could feel how true it was. Still, they had all told her she was strong, stronger than any witch they’d known. But she knew it now herself. And she knew what she had to do.

Reaching up with a hand that was as steady as time, she placed her palm, glowing with red fire, over her heart and cried out at the pain. She could hear him crying out too, and it spurred her on.

“I’m cutting you out, you bastard!” she said and refused to stop, even though she was seeing stars. “And when I reach you, I’ll put you right in your place.”

She thought she might pass out from the pain, but still, she continued on. Finally, her hand began to glow with white magick, _his_ magick, and with a low gasp, she pulled it away from her chest and crawled out of the Circle. She could still hear him screaming in the edges of her mind, and she smiled, satisfied.

“Let’s see you destroy the world now, you creepy motherfucker.”

She was contemplating whether or not she would still need to kill him, perhaps she would (and perhaps Sherlock would want to help), when she heard someone calling her.

“Jane?”

Loki was sitting up in bed staring at her, his eyes moving from the Circle to the swirling mix of the two magicks around her hand, now a different hue entirely.

“Don’t worry,” she said with a breathless laugh. “I’ll give it to Sherlock, and he’ll keep it safe. Besides, I’m not really into pink.”

 

 

“Oh, I want you now,  
So please don’t let me down.  
Oh, just shut your mouth  
And know that you are everything to me.  
Can we just let go  
Of what we can’t control?  
And if the world should spin too fast,  
I’ll slow it down for you.”

“Tea?” Sherlock asked, although he knew well enough that it wasn’t John’s favorite way to start a conversation. What did surprise him was that John never hesitated, even after all that had happened, to sit down and have a cup with his former master. He truly had come into his own.

_And I’ll just come back,_ his look said when he crossed the room and sat down, _so don’t even try it._

“Sounds good,” John said out loud, and Sherlock poured them both a cup.

Once they’d realized the curse had been lifted, he and Loki hadn’t said much to each other, and Loki had left soon after. Though he’d reached out to touch Sherlock’s arm and smiled a little, not much more had needed to be said.

“See you at Christmas?” was all he’d given as a goodbye.

“Christmas,” Sherlock had responded. And the old witch had left, presumably to finally find Jane and to make amends.

Now, Sherlock sat across from his once indentured servant turned companion turned apprentice turned lover turned ghost in his machine and tried not to get lost in the same round of questions he had played with himself for years and years before he’d finally found his mantra.

_You don’t love him. You_ can’t _love him._

For the first time, of course, the second statement was now false. He was perfectly capable of loving anyone he wanted, in theory, and could not chalk any of it up to his often unpleasant personality because he had, for a time, loved Loki. Was he capable of love now? All signs pointed to yes. He loved Morgana and Thomas and even O. He still did love Loki in a sense, now in a way that _made_ sense and felt less constricting, and he supposed he even loved Jane enough to show her the way back to herself, albeit harshly. But whether or not he could love now seemed to no longer be the question anyway.

_You_ can _love him. But… do you?_

Sherlock realized that John had caught him staring long ago and was patiently staring back, sipping his tea and waiting.

“What is it?” John said when he could see Sherlock was now with him again.

He’d been highly guarding his thoughts because he still didn’t know the best way to break it to John, and now, he took a deep breath and then another.

“Sherlock?” John said, a little annoyed but always patient. Long-suffering was the term that came to Sherlock’s mind.

“You were right,” Sherlock murmured as he moved to pick up his own cup, “about the curse.”

“Yeah, well… Yeah. I mean, it took long enough to figure it out. If you’d’ve just told me, we could’ve avoided a lot of unnecessary problems.” He paused before raising the cup to his lips. “And heartache.”  

Sherlock nodded stiffly. “Not that we need to discuss any of that.”

“No, we don’t.” John sighed and gave him another serious look. “But, you know… We’ll figure it out.” John smiled, a goodnatured look that stilled Sherlock. “I belong here, same as you.”

Sherlock’s heart jumped into his throat. He remembered telling Loki once that he needed a place of his own, a home. Not so much out of sentiment, or perhaps, looking back, it was… But at the time, he wanted to feel somehow grounded. That if he were to go and travel, he’d always have a place to come back to. Loki didn’t understand the feeling and didn’t seem to share it.

After they’d gone their separate ways, Sherlock had built the shop, mostly out of his own magick and his own mind. John had been half-right; it was, in many ways, his mind palace made wood and brick and granite, but the shop was also very much something apart from him now, something that pulled him inward and something that, on occasion, he wasn’t sure he could escape. But he’d been happy here for so many centuries, never thinking there would be someone who could share it with him to the extent John did.

He fit right in, just like a piece of furniture or dusty old book on the shelf.

Except he wasn’t those things.

“What are you wanting to tell me, Sherlock, hm?” John’s patience only lasted him so long now, although he still smiled goodnaturedly when he said it. “About the curse.”

Sherlock paused and John sighed, setting aside his tea cup.

“I know it’s there. I understand, but we’ll figure out some way to break it. If… If that’s what you want. And if you don’t, then…” He shrugged. “I dunno, but I’m not going anywhere. I belong here. With you. Curse or no.” He nodded as if he’d come to the end of his explanation and was happy to be finished with it. But then, he gave a little turn of his head and sighed again.

“I care about you, Sherlock. I’m going to be… right here. As long as you’ll have me.”

Sherlock forced his lips to part, although they felt dry and he wasn’t sure if his voice would work when he tried to speak. He looked John over and swallowed.

“John, the curse is broken. It happened earlier today.”

He saw the way John wanted to celebrate, wanted to go to him, but didn’t. It made him nervous. Had he miscalculated?

“Okay… That’s a good thing, isn’t it?”

“It is.”

John thought hard for a moment, and Sherlock was half-annoyed and half-pleased to see he was hiding his thoughts ( _My apprentice is learning_ ). Finally, he met Sherlock’s gaze again.

“So what’s the problem?”

“Well…”

It was now or never.

“I’m no longer tied to Loki, which means I’m free to love another as much as I am capable of doing so.”

“Love another?”

“Yes.”

“Like another person?”

“Yes.”

John laughed a little, which startled Sherlock. He shook his head.

“You think that you might love someone other than me?”

With discomfort, Sherlock shifted in his seat and tilted his head a bit. “Well… I suppose the question is ‘Do I love you’ now that––”

“Yes. You do.” John didn’t look away, and his lips pursed slightly before he spoke again. “Of course you do.”

“Of course…”

“Of _course_ you do! Sherlock, I went into the depths of your mind to find you, I pined after you for years, I… I became a man in your arms. Of course you… You _have_ to love me.”

Still cursed in other ways, Sherlock made an observation that was neither prudent nor necessary.

“Those are all reasons why you love me, not why I love you.”

“Sherlock.” John’s voice had gotten low now, and it was the first time Sherlock ever felt concerned in the presence of his former apprentice that he might get challenged to a witches’ duel (or at least get socked in the jaw).

“Say you love me or not, but don’t leave me like this. Not anymore.”

Sherlock blinked and felt stupid, felt like he had been staring at a puzzle for hours, days, weeks and had only just now figured out the answer, one that was glaringly obvious from the start. He felt the reactions in his body, the same as those he’d felt with Loki but different, somehow very different. He felt the way he was pulled toward John, like a planet in its orbit. Was John the moon or was he?

What did it matter? The love was there.

“John…” Sherlock said with a soft voice, one he hadn’t used since many years ago when he’d asked that same boy to hold him, to be inside him right before everything between them had almost been over for good. He felt that desperate pull again and for the first time in their knowing each other, he stood to meet it. With recognition, John stood too, and they reached out for each other, first just touching but soon kissing and sighing in one another’s arms.

“Will you tell me, Sherlock?” John said in a way that was so gentle, it almost broke Sherlock into a million pieces. “Will you just say the words?”

“I love you…” said Sherlock and, ever the dramatic, they echoed throughout the room and throughout John’s mind, making his body shake and shiver.

John laughed and rested his head on Sherlock’s shoulder.

“Oh, my dark witch. How I love you too.”

When John lay with his head on Sherlock’s chest that night, feeling satisfied and numb, he smiled and asked the question he fully expected to already know the answer to.

“Am I still going to be your apprentice?”

“Of course.”

John sat up to glare at the man underneath him. “What?! But I’ve heard you think a million times about how I’ve grown so much, how I’m not the boy who came trundling into your shop––”

“Did I think trundled?”

“–– _You thought trundled!_ And how you, you feel like I’ve learned all there is to learn.”

“Though I’m impressed with your reading skills, I must point out that your last statement is only conjecture. You may no longer be a boy and you are a fully formed witch in every sense of the word. But, on the contrary, John, there still is much you have to learn, and as my pupil, you’ll learn it from me. You will always, in a way, be my apprentice, just as Jane will always be Loki’s.”

“Jane.” John’s brow furrowed at the mention of her name. “Is she all right?”

“I believe so. There was a strong force of magickal energy I believe to have originated with her, but I do not think it was anything malevolent, especially because, had it been, it would have most likely been directed at me.”

John smiled a little and rested his chin on Sherlock’s chest again, mumbling, “Yeah, sure. It’s always about you.”

His master––who would, he supposed now, forever be his master––flicked his galaxy eyes down to  appraise John, and one low, dark laugh escaped him. John smiled back and leaned up to kiss his lips.

“She’s with Loki then, probably?”

“Yes, she is. Most definitely.”

“We should see them soon.” John squinted his eyes and gave his head a tilt as he thought about it. “But not… _too_ soon. I’m rather enjoying this. Just… being with you.”

Sherlock’s thin lips curved into half a smile and John kissed the rest of the grin out of him.

“Make love to me,” he said, his mouth whispering the words into Sherlock’s skin.

“Mm. Again?”

John gave a fake glare. “Yes, _again_. What, do you think I should be knackered by now?” He lifted his head so that his nose tipped into the air. “I’ll have you know I’m surprisingly virile for three hundred and change.”

Sherlock smiled and reached out to run his hand over John’s cheek, making his partner, his apprentice, his lover shiver. His hands were still cold, as always, but judging from his scrambled thoughts, John seemed to like that. And, oh, how Sherlock loved that he did.

“You’re young,” Sherlock said, his hand slipping upward into John’s hair. “You’ve got lifetimes and lifetimes ahead of you.”

“Mm. With you.”

“Yes,” Sherlock murmured though the rest of it went unspoken because he was already kissing him.

_With me._

 

The End.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “Oh, my friend,  
> Nothing ever ends.  
> Just look around ‘cause this is right  
> Where you and I belong.”
> 
> -“Slow It Down” by the Goo Goo Dolls


	23. Epilogue

Somewhere, in a restaurant in Brazil or in bungalow in Bermuda or in India during Holi, Jane and Loki are sharing their secret smiles and touching one another even without touching. Jane isn’t looking over her shoulder the way she was afraid she would, and rather quickly it should be added, she’s already managed to get the degree she was lacking (plus a few others). Now, she is telling Loki things even he doesn’t know (or perhaps things he already forgot at some long ago point in time) and she doesn’t wake up from nightmares anymore and she dances and, sometimes, even sings. 

Loki tries not to let her out of his sight if he can help it, not because he wants to possess her but simply because he never wants to miss a moment of her brilliance, her enchantment. At night (and any time really), they make love until they’re gasping for breath, and Loki always murmurs those magick words into her hair or her neck or her back to make sure she knows, that she always knows. 

They’re content and still ever learning, ever moving, which makes them happier than a home ever has. Jane wished her whole life to be able to touch the stars, but she has them right with her always as long as he’s near, and Loki... Well, he’s something more than he ever could have been without her. Someone better. And that’s amazing. 

If you happened to see them, walking hand in hand down a road you know well, you won’t be able to follow. They’ll be gone as soon as you try. Loki will lean down to whisper to Jane, “Is it time to disappear?” And she’ll reply, “Yeah, baby. Let’s get lost.” 

 

Somewhere, across time and space in a little shop with a bell on the door and an owl sleeping in a cage of her own volition, John is in awe of Sherlock. He is still learning: a little witch, Sherlock calls him, and he allows it because he knows it is a reference to his years and his tutelage, not his size. Though John thought himself to be quite grown, knowing Sherlock has allowed him to realize how little his time on this earth has been. He is so ready for more of everything.

He watches the purple fire glow in his dark witch’s hand and admires its hue as well as its feel. When Sherlock draws it forth to perform his tasks, John is always reminded of the way his eyes look just after climax, how they turn that same shade of amethyst with his desire and make John want to watch him without blinking until they bleed back to their pale green.

Sometimes, even now, Sherlock uses the magick to show John what he will be able to do someday. John has a river of power inside of him and can access most of what he needs, when he needs it. Still, he never tires of watching his master perform and hearing the assurance that, “for a little witch,” John has some rather impressive talents of his own. 

“You were paid to perform them after all,” Sherlock says as they sit in wingback chairs in the parlor where there is always a fire in the hearth and the room is lined with bookshelves containing old books, jars of dried ingredients, and other oddities like the octopus that oozes back and forth inside its tank (accompanied now by a smaller, faster-moving friend). They drink orgasmic peppermint tea and, on the tea table, the last of their companions, a fruit-turned-vampire bat watches with large red eyes, wide awake.

“I’ll never be as clever or as talented as you,” John replies and waits to see if Sherlock will agree. But there are things that John has taught the old witch as well, and he hesitates before answering.

“Not all things come down to power or talent or even cleverness. I think, perhaps, it has been the hardest lesson for me to learn.”

“What do all things come down to, if not those, then?” John asks, visions of their lovemaking, their laughter, their calm filling his mind.

Sherlock holds the cup to his mouth as if he’s practicing ventriloquism, and for a moment, his lips disappear. Then he locks eyes with John, and that spark John feels inside him jumps and vibrates. Not the magick but the part of a person that acknowledges when souls touch. It never becomes boring or commonplace and is never ignored but always a tug that his whole body down to his spirit feels.

“When I am with you,” Sherlock tells him in the softest of voices, “nothing else matters.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We hope you enjoyed the end of Dark Horse and we wanted to thank you so much for reading it. Last Christmas, we didn’t think we’d ever write this story down and thanks to the amazing art we commissioned from imrisah.tumblr.com, it got some interest so we thought we would. We are so happy we did, and we can’t thank you enough for reading it!  
> We are trying to decide which of our AUs we want to write next so we hope you will keep reading when we do. You can follow us at soyouwannaplaywithmagick.tumblr.com. Thank you again so much!


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